"The  candle  in  the  niche  behind  her  cast  a  dim  light  over  the 
soft  curves  of  Jean's  cheeks" 

FRONTISPIECE.    See  page  joj 


THE  UP  GRADE 


BY 

WILDER    GOODWIN 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
CHARLES  GRUNWALD 


BOSTON 
LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY 

1910 


Copyright,  IQIO, 
BY  LITTLE,  BROWN,  AND  COMPANY. 


All  right*  reserved 
Published,  January,  1910 


THE  UNIVERSITY  PRESS,  CAMBRIDGE,  U.S.A. 


TO  MY  MOTHER 
MAUD  WILDER  GOODWIN 


2135329 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  The  candle  in  the  niche  behind  her  cast  a 
dim  light  over  the  soft  curves  of  Jean's 
cheeks " Frontispiece 

PACK 

"  The  girl  was  kneeling  beside  him  "...        36 

"  'It  seems  like  as  if  you  was  bitten,  Mr.  Loring,' 

said  Hawkins" 125 

"  No  one  quite  dared  to  lead  an  attack  upon 
Knowlton,  who  stood  his  ground  beside 
the  body" 241 


THE   UP   GRADE 


CHAPTER  I 

STEPHEN  LORING  sat  on  the  edge  of 
the  sidewalk,  his  feet  in  the  gutter.  He 
was  staring  vacantly  at  the  other  side  of 
the  street,  completely  oblivious  of  his  surround- 
ings. No  one  would  select  a  Phoenix  sidewalk 
as  an  attractive  resting-place,  unless,  like  Lor- 
ing,  he  were  compelled  by  circumstances  over 
which  he  had  ceased  to  have  control. 

"Here,  'Hombre'!  How  are  you  stacking 
up?  Do  you  want  a  job?" 

With  an  uncertain  "Yes,"  Loring  arose  from 
the  sidewalk,  before  looking  at  the  man  who  ad- 
dressed him.  Turning,  he  saw  a  brisk,  sandy 
whiskered  man  about  forty-five  years  of  age, 
who  fairly  beamed  with  efficiency,  and  whose 
large  protruding  eyes  seemed  to  see  in  every 
direction  at  once. 

The  questioner  looked  only  for  a  second  at 
the  man  before  him.  The  face  told  its  own 
story  —  the  story  of  a  man  who  had  quit.  The 


THE   UP   GRADE 

tired  eyes  half  apologized  for  the  lines  beneath 
them. 

"Easterner,"  decided  the  prospective  em- 
ployer, "since  he  wears  a  belt  and  not  sus- 
penders." The  stranger  extended  his  hand  in 
an  energetic  manner,  and  continued:  "My 
name  is  McKay.  The  Quentin  Mining  Com- 
pany, up  in  the  hills,  want  men.  They  sent  me 
down  to  round  up  a  few.  You  are  the  forty- 
first  man,  and  the  boss  bet  me  that  I  would  only 
get  forty." 

Loring's  head  was  still  swimming  as  the  re- 
sult of  a  period  of  drunkenness  which  only  lack 
of  funds  had  brought  to  a  close.  By  way  of  an- 
swer he  merely  nodded  wearily  and  murmured : 
"My  name  is  Loring." 

His  taciturnity  in  no  wise  discouraged  his 
interlocutor,  for  the  latter  paused  merely  to 
wipe  the  perspiration  from  his  forehead  with  a 
handkerchief  which  might  possibly  once  have 
been  white.  Then,  slipping  his  arm  through 
Loring's,  he  went  on  with  his  communications : 
"The  boss  bet  me  I  would  lose  half  the  men  I 
got,  but  they  will  have  their  troubles  trying  to 
lose  me.  Come  right  along  down  to  the  station  ! 
I  have  them  all  corralled  there  with  a  friend 

2 


THE  UP  GRADE 

watching  them.  I  don't  suppose  you  have  such 
a  hell  of  a  lot  of  packing  to  do,"  he  drawled, 
looking  at  Loring's  disheveled  apparel  with  a 
comprehending  smile.  "I  went  broke  myself 
once  in  'Frisco.  Why,  Phoenix  is  a  gold  mine 
for  opportunities  compared  with  that  place ! 
I  '11  set  you  up  to  a  drink  now.  There  is  nothing 
like  it  to  clear  your  head." 

During  this  running  fire  of  talk,  McKay  had 
convoyed  Loring  to  a  saloon.  The  proprietor 
was  sitting  listlessly  behind  a  roulette  wheel, 
idly  spinning  it,  the  while  he  made  imaginary 
bets  with  himself  on  the  results,  and  was  seem- 
ingly as  elated  or  depressed  as  if  he  had  really 
won  or  lost  money.  Observing  the  entrance  of 
the  two  men,  he  rose  and  sauntered  over  behind 
the  bar. 

"What  will  you  have,  gents  ?" 

"I  guess  about  two  whiskies,"  answered 
McKay.  "Will  you  have  something  with  us  ?" 

"Well,  I  don't  mind  if  I  do  take  a  cigar," 
answered  the  barkeeper,  as,  after  pouring  their 
drink,  he  stretched  his  arm  into  the  dirty  glass 
case.  Then  he  aimed  an  ineffectual  blow  with 
a  towel  at  the  flies  on  the  dirty  mirror,  and  re- 
turned to  his  wheel. 

3 


THE  UP  GRADE 

McKay  wiped  his  mouth  with  the  back  of 
his  hand,  and  licked  the  last  drops  of  whisky 
from  his  mustache.  Then  again  taking  Lor- 
ing  by  the  arm,  he  stepped  out  into  the  street. 
The  heat,  as  they  walked  toward  the  railroad 
tracks,  was  terrific.  The  dusty  stretch  of  road 
which  led  to  the  station  shimmered  with  the 
glare.  No  one  who  could  avoid  it  moved.  In 
the  shade  of  the  buildings,  the  dogs  sprawled 
limply.  Now  and  then  riders  passed  at  a  slow 
gait,  the  horses  a  mass  of  lather  and  dusty  sweat. 
One  poor  animal  loped  by,  driven  on  by  spur, 
with  head  down,  and  tail  too  dejected  to  switch 
off  the  flies. 

Loring  watched  him.  "I  think,"  he  mused, 
"that  that  poor  horse  feels  as  I  do.  Only  he 
has  not  the  alleviating  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  he  is  to  blame  for  it  himself." 

The  station  platform  was  crowded  with  bat- 
tered specimens  of  Mexican  peons,  chattering 
in  high-pitched,  slurred  syllables.  Their 
swarthy  faces  immeasurably  irritated  Stephen. 
Three  white  men,  standing  a  little  apart,  looked 
rather  scornfully  at  the  crowd.  The  only  differ- 
ence in  their  appearance,  however,  Was  that 
while  each  of  the  white  men  had  two  suspenders, 

4 


THE  UP  GRADE 

the  overalls  of  each  of  the  Mexicans  were  sup- 
ported by  only  one.  It  would  have  been  hard 
to  gather  together  a  more  bedraggled  set  of  men 
than  these  were;  but  McKay  counted  them  with 
loving  pride. 

"  Forty-one !  All  here !  he  exclaimed. 
"Hop  aboard  the  train,  boys;  we're  off!" 

"Railway  fare  comes  out  of  your  first  two 
days'  work,"  he  exclaimed  cheerfully  to  Loring. 

The  train  was  of  the  "mixed"  type  that 
crawls  about  the  southwest.  A  dingy,  battered, 
passenger  coach  trailed  at  the  end  of  a  long  line 
of  freight  cars,  which  were  labeled  for  the  most 
part  with  the  white  circle  and  black  cross  of 
the  "Atcheson,  Topeka  and  Santa  Fe."  The 
men  scrambled  aboard,  the  engine  grunted 
lazily,  protestingly,  and  the  long  train  slowly 
started.  Until  the  train  was  well  under  way, 
McKay  stood  with  his  broad  back  against  the 
door,  his  hand  lying  nonchalantly  but  signifi- 
cantly on  a  revolver  beneath  his  vest,  then,  with 
a  contented  smile,  he  dropped  into  a  seat. 

Loring  had  no  hat.  In  Arizona,  a  man  may 
go  without  his  trousers,  and  be  called  eccentric. 
To  go  without  a  hat  is  ungentlemanly.  Conse- 
quently the  three  other  white  men  whom 

5 


THE  UP  GRADE 

McKay  had  collected  kept  themselves  aloof, 
and  Stephen,  crawling  into  a  seat  beside  a 
voluble  Chinaman,  dozed  off  in  misery,  wonder- 
ing whether  the  murmuring  buzz  that  he  heard 
was  in  his  head,  or  in  the  car  wheels.  The 
Chinaman  looked  down  at  Stephen's  unshaven 
face  and  matted  hair,  and  grinned  pleasantly. 

"He  allee  samee  broke,"  he  murmured  to 
himself,  crooning  with  pleasure. 

For  six  hours  the  train  had  been  plowing 
its  way  across  the  desert,  backing,  stopping, 
groaning,  wheezing.  The  blue  line  of  the  hills 
seemed  little  nearer  than  in  the  morning.  Only 
the  hills  behind  seemed  farther  away.  Now 
and  then,  far  out  in  the  sage-brush,  a  film  of 
dust  hung  low  in  the  air,  telling  of  some  sheep 
outfit  driving  to  new  grazing  lands.  On  the 
side  of  the  train  next  Loring,  a  trail  followed 
the  line  of  the  telegraph  poles.  Wherever  the 
trail  crossed  the  track  and  ran  for  a  while  on  the 
opposite  side,  Stephen  felt  a  childish  anger  at  it, 
for  otherwise  he  could  amuse  himself  by  count- 
ing the  skeletons  of  horses  and  cattle,  which 
every  mile  or  so  made  splatches  of  pure  white 
against  the  gray  white  of  the  dust.  The  pas- 
sengers slouched  in  the  hot  seats,  rolling  count- 

6 


THE  UP  GRADE 

less  cigarettes  with  the  dexterity  which  marks 
the  Southwesterner,  drawing>the  string  of  the 
"Durham"  sack  with  a  quick  jerk  of  the  teeth, 
at  the  close  of  the  operation.  The  air  of  the  car 
reeked  with  smoke.  At  each  little  station-shed 
new  men  joined  the  crowd,  being  received  with 
looks  of  silent  sympathy  and  invariably  proffer- 
ing a  request  for  the  "makings."  When  this 
was  received,  they  resignedly  settled  on  the  torn 
black  leather  of  the  seats,  trying  to  accomplish 
the  impossible  feat  of  resting  their  necks  on  the 
edge  of  the  backs  without  cramping  their  legs 
against  the  seats  in  front  of  them. 

The  train  stopped  suddenly  with  a  jerk  which 
was  worse  than  usual,  as  if  the  engine  had 
stumbled  over  itself.  The  brakeman,  a  target 
for  many  jests,  hurried  through  the  car. 

"What  have  we  stopped  for  now?"  drawled 
McKay.  "To  enjoy  the  scenic  effect?" 

"Horse  runned  along  ahead  of  the  engine  and 
bust  his  leg  in  the  trestle,"  laconically  answered 
the  brakeman. 

"  The  son-of-a-gun  !  Now,  the  critter  showed 
durned  poor  judgment,  did  n't  he  ?" 

The  brakeman  swore  mildly,  and  disappeared. 
In  a  few  minutes  he  returned,  carefully  spat  in 

7 


THE  UP  GRADE 

the  empty  stove,  and  the  train  casually  moved 
on  again. 

Seeing  a  paper  lying  in  the  aisle,  as  he  walked 
down  the  car,  the  brakeman  stooped  and  picked 
it  up.  His  eye  fell  upon  a  large  red  seal,  and 
much  elaborate  writing.  With  a  puzzled  ex- 
pression he  read  the  document. 

"  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA.     DEPARTMENT  OF  STATE. 

"  To  all  whom  these  presents  may  concern,  Greeting. 
I,  the  undersigned,  Secretary  of  State,  of  the  United  States 
of  America,  hereby  request  all  whom  it  may  concern  to 
permit  —  Stephen  Loring  —  a  citizen  of  the  United  States, 
safely  and  freely  to  pass,  and  in  case  of  need  to  give  him 
all  lawful  aid  and  protection." 

"It  must  be  a  passport,"  he  thought. 
"First  one  I  ever  seed,  though.  I  wonder  who 
might  Stephen  Loring  be." 

His  eye  fell  upon  the  appended  description: 

"  Age,  23  yrs.,  4  mos.  Mouth,  Wide. 

Stature,  6  ft.  I.  Chin,  Medium. 

Forehead,  Broad.  Hair,  Black. 

Eyes,  Brown.  Complexion,  Ruddy. 

Nose,  Irregular.  Face,  Square." 

He  looked  about  at  the  men  in  the  car  until 
his  eye  fell  on  Stephen. 

8 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"That's  him,  all  right,"  he  thought.  "I 
should  say  it  would  be  sort  of  inconvenient  to 
have  such  a  good  description  to  fill ! " 

He  went  to  Stephen  and  touched  him  on  the 
shoulder.  "  Hey,  stranger,  I  reckon  this  belongs 
to  you." 

Loring,  surprised,  took  the  proffered  paper. 
Then  he  felt  in  the  pocket  of  his  coat. 

"  I  think  it  must  have  fallen  out  of  my  pocket. 
Much  obliged!"  he  exclaimed. 

It  was  an  old  passport,  expired  ten  years  since, 
but  Stephen  carried  it  about  with  him  as  a 
means  of  identification  in  case  of  accident. 

"How  did  you  know  that  this  was  mine?" 
he  asked  the  brakeman  from  idle  curiosity. 

The  man  pointed  with  an  exceedingly  dirty 
thumb  to  the  description. 

"I  ain't  no  detective,  but  I  reckon  that  fits 
pretty  well."  Then  he  nodded  to  Loring  and 
walked  away. 

Loring  glanced  idly  at  the  passport  as  it  lay 
open  on  his  knee.  As  he  did  so  he  wondered 
what  the  friends  who  knew  him  ten  years  back, 
at  the  time  when  that  document  was  issued, 
would  say  to  his  appearance  now.  "Wild  oats 
gone  to  seed.  I  guess  that  about  describes  me," 

9 


THE  UP  GRADE 

he  murmured,  with  a  grim  smile,  as  he  folded 
the  passport  and  slipped  it  back  into  the  frayed 
lining  of  his  pocket.  Dissipation  and  wreck  do 
not  change  the  color  of  a  man's  eyes,  the  shape 
of  his  forehead  or  the  outline  of  his  face,  so 
that  it  had  still  been  possible  to  recognize  Loring 
by  his  old  passport.  Had  it  been  a  description 
of  his  personality  instead  of  his  measurements, 
no  one  could  have  recognized  the  original. 
Mathematically  it  is  but  the  difference  of  an 
inch  from  a  retreating  chin  to  one  thrust  for- 
ward ;  artistically  a  very  slight  touch  will  turn 
frank  eyes  into  hopeless  ones;  philosophically 
the  turning  of  the  corners  of  the  lips  downward 
instead  of  upward  may  change  the  whole  view- 
point of  life.  Experience  is  mathematician, 
artist,  and  philosopher  combined,  and  it  had 
accomplished  all  these  changes  in  Stephen 
Loring. 

Through  the  parting  kindness  of  friends, 
most  of  the  men  had  some  food,  which  they 
proceeded  to  chew  with  noisy  satisfaction. 
Loring  began  to  feel  cravings.  The  Chinaman 
beside  him  was  gnawing  at  a  huge  ham  sand- 
wich with  a  very  green  pickle  protruding  from 
between  the  edges  of  the  bread.  He  eyed  Lor- 

10 


THE  UP  GRADE 

ing,  then  turned  to  him  and  asked:  "You  hab 
bite  ?  My  name  Hop  Wah.  I  go  cook  for  the 
outfit.  Me  heap  fine  cook,"  solemnly  added 
the  celestial. 

Loring  gratefully  shared  the  food. 

The  men  in  the  car,  who  until  now  had  been 
rather  morose  and  silent,  began  to  cheer  up, 
and  to  sing  noisily.  Loring  lazily  wondered 
why,  until  he  saw  several  black  bottles  passed 
promiscuously  about.  McKay  handed  his  own 
flask  to  Loring. 

"Have  another  drink!"  he  said,  "there  is 
nothing  like  it  for  a  hang-over." 

Loring  took  a  deep  pull  at  the  flask. 

"Hey,  Chink,  have  some?"  continued 
McKay. 

Wah  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

"Don't  drink,  eh?  Well,  I  '11  bet  then  that 
you  are  strong  on  dope,"  said  McKay,  as  he 
returned  the  flask  to  his  pocket. 

Night  began  to  turn  the  color  of  the  hills  to  a 
rich  cobalt.  Now  and  then  the  train  crawled 
past  shacks  whose  evening  fires  were  beginning 
to  twinkle  in  the  dusk.  Little  camps  scattered 
in  the  niches  of  the  foothills  showed  gray  and 
blurred.  Jagged  masses  of  rock,  broken  by 

ii 


THE  UP  GRADE 

cuts  and  hollows,  now  overshadowed  the  train. 
Giant  cacti,  growing  at  impossible  angles  from 
pinnacles  and  crevasses,  loomed  against  the 
sky  line.  As  the  hills  shut  in,  the  roar  of  the 
train  echoed  of  a  sudden  louder  and  louder 
where  the  desert  runs  flat  as  a  board  to  the  hills, 
and  then  with  no  transition  becomes  the  hills. 

"Only  fifteen  miles  more  now,  boys,"  sang 
out  McKay;  "but  it  may  take  two  hours,"  he 
added  under  his  breath. 

Cheered  by  this  announcement,  one  of  the 
Mexicans  groped  under  his  seat  and  produced 
a  large  nondescript  bundle,  which,  after  sundry 
cuttings  of  string,  and  unwrapping  of  paper, 
resolved  itself  into  a  guitar.  Then,  after  fishing 
in  his  pockets,  he  produced  a  mouth-organ  with 
two  clamps  attached.  Loring,  for  want  of 
better  occupation,  watched  him.  The  man 
deftly  fastened  the  harmonica  to  the  edge  of 
the  guitar.  Then  slinging  the  dirty  red  guitar 
ribbon  over  his  neck,  he  played  a  few  warn- 
ing chords.  When  the  attention  of  all  was 
fixed  upon  him,  he  bent  his  head  over  the 
mouth-organ,  and  strumming  the  guitar  accom- 
paniment with  sweeping  strokes,  rendered  a 
selection  that  had  once  been  "A  Georgia  Camp- 

12 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Meeting."  The  applause  being  generous,  the 
artist  threw  himself  into  the  spirit  of  his  per- 
formance. 

"Thees  time  —  with  variations,"  he  ex- 
claimed excitedly.  And  they  were  variations  ! 

McKay  regarded  his  flock  with  genial  interest. 

"Ain't  he  the  musical  boy,  though  ?"  he  ob- 
served to  Loring. 

"  Playing  those  two  together  is  quite  a  trick," 
thought  Loring;  "I  must  learn  it."  Then  he 
realized  that  he  could  not  even  play  either 
singly.  Such  impulses  and  awakenings  were 
frequent  with  him.  Constructively  he  felt  him- 
self capable  of  doing  almost  anything.  The 
ridiculousness  of  his  thought  aroused  him  from 
his  lethargy,  and  he  began  to  hum  softly  the 
tune  that  car  wheels  always  play. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  engine  gave  a  last  ex- 
hausted wheeze,  and  stopped.  "Quentin.  All 
ashore!"  called  out  McKay. 

The  men  took  their  bundles  from  the  racks, 
crowded  down  the  aisle,  and  out  to  the  rickety 
station  platform,  where  the  ticket  agent,  lantern 
in  hand,  looked  at  them  wonderingly. 

"I  didn't  lose  a  man  on  the  trip,"  McKay 
said  to  the  agent,  in  answer  to  the  latter's  query 

13 


THE  UP  GRADE 

of  "What  in  hell?"  "Well,  boys,"  went  on 
McKay,  "it  is  ten  miles  to  where  we  camp,  and 
there  ain't  no  hearses,  so  I  guess  we  '11  have  a 
nice  little  moonlight  stroll." 

The  station  settlement  of  Quentin  consisted 
of  a  few  scattered  tents,  and  of  five  saloons,  with 
badly  spelled  signs.  One  shack  bore  in  large 
letters  the  proud  legend:  "Grocery  Store."  It 
had  evidently  been  adopted  as  a  residence,  for 
in  smaller  letters  beneath  the  sign  was  painted : 
"This  ain't  no  store  —  Keep  out!"  Loring, 
with  lazy  amusement,  read  this  evidence  of  a 
shiftlessness  greater  than  his  own. 

The  crowd  began  to  gravitate'  tftward  the 
saloons.  "Hey,  other  way  there!"  shouted 
McKay,  for  he  well  knew  that  if  the  crowd  be- 
gan drinking  there,  very  few  would  reach  camp. 
A  big  Mexican,  who  had  been  imbibing  heavily 
on  the  train,  lurched  toward  the  saloons,  bellow- 
ing: "Me  much  maV  hombre.  I  take  a  drink 
when  I  damn  please ! " 

"You  much  maV  hombre,  eh  ?"  said  McKay, 
smiling.  "Then  take  that !"  He  stepped  up  to 
the  man,  and  let  drive  a  blow  from  one  shoulder 
that  almost  broke  the  mutineer's  jaw.  The  man 
staggered,  then  turned  and  ran,  but  up  the  trail. 


THE  UP  GRADE 

The  other  men  howled  with  laughter,  then/fhey 
picked  up  their  blanket  rolls  and  bundles,*and 
laughing  and  singing  started  up  the  trail,  where 
the  deep  shadows  of  the  tall  suwaras  made  black 
streaks  against  the  white  porphyry  of  the  pro- 
jecting cliffs. 

Loring  and  Hop  Wah  followed  at  the  end  of 
the  procession,  the  former  consoling  himself  for 
his  lack  of  blankets  by  thinking  how  much 
easier  walking  was  without  them;  the  latter 
cheerfully  singing  a  song  of  which  verse,  chorus, 
and  envoi  were:  "La  la  boom  boom!  La  la 
boom  boom!"  If  this  were  lacking  in  origi- 
nality, it  was  at  least  capable  of  infinite  repeti- 
tion, and  it  turned  out  to  be  Wah's  one  musical 
number. 

Mile  after  mile  up  the  trail  toiled  the  strag- 
gling line,  the  Mexicans  calling  loudly  to  each 
other,  or  mocking  with  jeering  whoops  the  un- 
fortunates who  slipped  on  the  loose  stones. 
McKay,  chuckling  to  himself  with  pleasure,  led 
the  little  band.  Hewasthinkingof  the  expressions 
of  praise  and  surprise,  of  the  congratulations 
upon  the  successful  outcome  of  his  expedition, 
which  would  be  bestowed  upon  him  in  camp. 

Immediately    ahead   of  Loring   walked    the 
15 


THE  UP  GRADE 

three  other  white  men  of  the  collection.  The 
volubility  of  their  cursing,  as  they  stumbled 
along,  caused  McKay  to  drop  back  to  them. 
After  the  customary  greeting  of  "Well,  gents, 
how  are  you  stacking  up  ?"  he  began  to  probe 
into  the  cause  of  their  discontent. 

"What's  the  work,  boss,  anyhow?"  they 
asked. 

"Can  you  'polish*  the  head  of  a  drill?" 
asked  McKay.  He  inquired  as  a  matter  of 
form,  for  one  glance  at  their  slouching  shoulders 
and  their  thin  chests  had  given  him  his  answer. 
"Can't?"  he  observed  cheerfully.  "Well,  I 
guess  your  work  will  be  'mucking'  on  a  narrow 
gauge  railway  grade  that  we  are  building." 

"Mucking!"  growled  one.  "Ain't  there 
nothing  else  that  we  can  do  besides  scratch 
around  with  a  pick  and  shovel?" 

"Well,  Sullivan,  it  is  that  at  first.  Later,  if 
I  can  get  you  a  job  out  at  the  main  camp,  I 
will.  It  is  sort  of  hard  on  you  fellows  ta  have  to 
grub  with  all  these  '  Mex'  at  the  road  .carrijS ;  but 
as  soon  as  you  get  a  little  'time'  saved  up  you 
can  start  in  buying  your  own  stuff  and  messing 
together." 

"Save  up  'time'!"  exclaimed  Sullivan. 
16 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Hell!    There  ain't  no  use  savin'  anything  in 
this  Gawd-forsaken  country." 

"Well,  cheer  up,  anyway!"  laughed  McKay. 
"  Here  is  the  ground  where  the  road  camp  lies." 
Several  camp-fires  blazed  suddenly  out  of  the 
darkness.  Around  them  many  shadowy  figures 
were  grouped.  These  gathered  with  interest 
about  the  newcomers,  noisily  commenting  upon 
their  appearance.  "  Here  we  are,  boys.  The  tents 
ain't  down  here  yet;  but  sleeping  out  of  doors  is 
powerful  healthy.  Sure  Mike  ! "  he  added,  poking 
a  grinning  Mexican  boy  in  the  ribs.  "  Seguro. 
Miguel!  Nothing  like  it,  is  there,  Pedro?" 

"How  about  the  rattle-bugs,  Boss?"  asked 
Sullivan,  the  malcontent. 

"There  ain't  no  rattlesnakes  out  in  April. 
Besides,  if  there  was,  they  would  not  bite  your 
carcass,"  answered  McKay,  irritated  by  the 
man's  attitude  of  continual  grumbling. 

The  men  all  busied  themselves  unrolling 
their  blankets  and  looking  for  sheltered  places 
in  which  fro  sleep.  Loring  was  not  accustomed 
to  construction  camps.  He  thought  that  for 
the  white  men,  at  least,  sleeping  accommoda- 
tions must  have  been  provided. 

"Where  can  I  sleep?"  he  asked  McKay. 
17 


THE  UP  GRADE 

The  latter  grinned  from  one  big  ear  to  the 
other.  "Say,"  he  drawled,  "that's  good! 
Your  hot  bath  ain't  ready  though.  Have  n't 
got  any  blankets,  have  you?"  he  added,  re- 
lenting a  bit.  "Better  crawl  in  with  some  one 
to-night.  To-morrow,  when  I  come  down  here 
from  the  copper  camp,  I  '11  bring  you  a  pair.  I 
guess  you  won't  skip  till  you  have  done  enough 
work  to  pay  for  them,  as  you  won't  have  money 
enough  to  vamos.  And,  say,  I  Ve  got  a  swell 
hat  that  I  will  give  you.  It  ain't  respectable  or 
refined  like  not  to  have  one." 

The  rough  kindness  touched  Loring  deeply, 
and  he  began  to  thank  him  warmly. 

McKay  uttered  a  brisk  good  night  and  turned 
to  walk  up  the  trail  which  led  to  the  main  camp, 
two  miles  beyond.  The  Mexican  whom  the 
boss  had  knocked  down  at  the  station  stepped 
suddenly  forward.  Expecting  trouble,  Loring 
jumped  to  his  feet.  He  heard  McKay  say:  "I 
guess  the  senorita  won't  think  much  of  your 
beauty  now,  will  she,  Manuel  ?  I  '11  send  the 
doctor  down  in  the  morning  to  fix  up  that  face 
of  yours."  The  Mexican,  instead  of  rushing 
at  McKay,  exclaimed  excitedly:  "Oh,  boss,  you 
just  like  a  father  to  me!" 

18 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Still  smiling  at  the  sudden  change  of  temper 
Loring  lay  down  on  the  ground,  and  tried  to 
sleep.  The  knife-like  cold  of  the  Arizona  night 
made  him  shiver.  Striving  to  keep  warm,  he 
rolled  from  side  to  side.  Suddenly,  from  out  of 
the  darkness  near  him,  he  heard  a  soft  laugh: 
"Hey,  me  bludder,  Hop  Wah  got  plenty  blank- 
ets. Roil  here ! "  Gratefully  he  crawled  in 
between  the  Chinaman's  blankets.  Wah  looked 
at  him  curiously.  "La  la  boom  boom,"  he 
crooned  to  himself.  "Heap  lot  whisky."  Then 
he  turned  over  and  went  peacefully  to  sleep. 

Loring  lay  rigidly  upon  his  back.  Conscience, 
remorse,  and  a  rock  beneath  his  fourth  rib,  all 
kept  him  awake.  The  stars  did  not  answer  his 
half-framed  questions,  so  he  shut  his  eyes.  It 
is  hard  to  think  when  the  eyes  are  closed,  so  he 
opened  them  again.  It  was  a  very  simple  ques- 
tion that  he  reiterated  to  the  shadows,  to  the 
embers  of  the  fire,  and  to  the  drone  of  the 
Gila  river.  It  consisted  of  one  word  — "Why  ?  " 
There  was  no  need  of  his  asking  any  one  except 
himself;  but  he  put  off  as  long  as  possible  asking 
the  one  person  who  could  answer,  for  he  KNEW 
why.  His  friends  had  always  been  so  ready  to 
make  excuses  for  his  shortcomings,  that  in 

19 


THE  UP  GRADE 

graciousness  he  could  do  no  less  than  acquiesce. 
But  in  spite  of  the  veil  with  which  memory  sur- 
rounds facts,  when  a  man  lies  awake  at  night 
he  is  likely  to  see  them  as  they  are. 

That  both  of  Stephen's  parents  had  died 
when  he  was  a  child  was  no  answer  to  the  ques- 
tion which  he  asked  of  the  fire  and  the  river. 
His  uncle  had  educated  him  with  an  affection- 
ate insight  which  no  parent  could  have  bet- 
tered. That  he  had  not  all  along  realized  what 
he  was  doing  was  no  answer.  A  keen  judge  of 
men,  Loring  was  an  inspired  critic  of  himself. 
It  was  not  lack  of  ambition  that  had  dragged 
him  down,  for  always  there  had  been  a  long- 
ing for  those  things  which  were  not  within  his 
grasp.  There  was  no  inherent  vice  in  his  char- 
acter. There  was  courage,  loyalty,  and  kind- 
ness. There  was  only  one  thing  lacking  — 
some  power  to  drive  the  whole. 

Most  people  are  either  led  or  pushed  through 
life.  But  there  are  some  whose  motive  power 
must  come  from  within. 


20 


CHAPTER  II 

A  half-past  six  the  next  morning  the 
whistle  in  the  upper  camp  blew  long 
and  clear.  It  is  a  strange  fact  that  the 
dispassionate  whistle  in  the  morning  is  the 
brutal  enemy  of  labor,  calling  its  victims  to 
the  struggle;  but  that  at  noon  it  is  impartial  and 
cheerful.  It  then  attempts  the  roll  of  referee  in 
the  great  game  between  labor  and  capital  and, 
like  a  good  umpire,  favors  neither.  Yet  the 
same  whistle  at  night,  when  it  calls  the  game 
off,  becomes  the  warm  ally  of  the  workman, 
encouraging  him  openly  with  promise  of  rest 
and  supper.  It  is  then  as  if  it  said  to  him:  "I 
was  compelled  to  be  impartial.  That  is  my 
duty;  but  frankly,  now  that  it  is  over,  I  am  glad 
that  you  have  won." 

Loring  opened  his  eyes  as  he  heard  the  morn- 
ing whistle,  and,  at  first  a  little  dazed,  looked 
about  him.  Then  he  rose  and  stretched  himself. 
Every  bone  in  his  body  ached  as  the  result  of 
the  night  on  the  hard  ground.  All  around  him 

21 


THE  UP  GRADE 

men  were  yawning  sleepily  as  they  crawled  out 
of  their  blankets.  Close  beside  the  camp  ran 
the  tawny  Gila  river.  Stephen  walked  down  to 
the  bank,  and  kneeling  on  a  small  rock  which 
lay  half  afloat  in  the  ooze  mud,  endeavored  to 
wash.  Then,  refreshed,  if  not  much  cleaner, 
he  made  his  way  to  the  cook  tent.  Here  under 
a  fly  stretched  on  poles  were  four  long  tables, 
heaped  with  tin  plates  and  condensed  milk  cans. 
The  monotony  of  the  table  furnishings  was 
broken  by  a  few  dingy  cans,  decorated  with 
labels  of  very  red  tomatoes,  which  served  as 
sugar  and  salt  holders.  The  old  inhabitants  of 
the  camp  were  noisily  greeting  the  newcomers, 
pounding  on  their  cups  and  whistling  whenever 
they  perceived  some  old  acquaintance. 

The  labor  of  the  Southwest  is  of  a  very  vag- 
rant quality.  A  man  merely  works  until  he  has 
money  enough  to  move.  Each  time  that  he 
moves  he  spends  all  his  money  on  a  celebration, 
so  that  his  wanderings,  though  frequent,  are 
not  long  in  duration.  Thus  many  of  these  men 
had  met  before,  around  the  smelters  in  Globe, 
in  the  Tucson  district,  or  north  in  the  Yavapai.* 

Loring  found  a  place  on  one  of  the  rickety 
benches,  and  looked  toward  the  coffee-bucket. 

22 


THE   UP  GRADE 

Sullivan,  who  was  opposite  to  him,  growled 
gloomily:  "Say,  the  grub  is  rank.  This  coffee 
is  festered  water."  The  description,  though 
not  an  appetizing  one  with  which  to  begin  a 
meal,  was  not  without  truth.  In  varying  de- 
gree it  might  have  been  applied  to  the  rest  of 
the  breakfast,  from  the  red,  tasteless  frijollas  to 
the  stew,  which  consisted  of  a  few  shreds  of 
over-cooked  meat,  in  the  midst  of  a  nondescript 
mass  of  questionable  grease. 

As  Loring  had  finished  eating  what  he  could 
of  the  meal,  and  was  contemplating  borrowing 
some  tobacco,  the  foremen,  who,  as  etiquette 
demands,  had  eaten  their  breakfast  in  a  group 
apart  from  the  men,  began  to  look  at  their 
watches,  and  to  stir  about  actively. 

"  Hurry  up  now,  boys  !  Out  on  the  grade  — 
quick  !  Vamos!  Only  five  minutes  more  now  !" 
they  called. 

The  tools  of  the  old  workmen  were  scattered 
along  the  grade,  where  each  had  dropped  them 
at  the  end  of  the  previous  day's  work.  The 
newcomers  were  marched  single  file,  through 
the  tool-house,  where  each  picked  out  his  im- 
plements, then  started  off  to  the  place  assigned 
him.  Loring,  not  from  altruism,  but  because 

23 


THE  UP  GRADE 

he  did  not  know  the  difference  which  well  chosen 
tools  make  in  a  long  day's  toil,  made  no  effort 
to  grab.  In  consequence  he  emerged  from  the 
shed  supplied  with  a  split  shovel,  and  a  dull, 
loose-headed  pick.  A  foreman  beckoned  him 
to  a  place  on  the  grade,  opposite  to  the  cook 
tent.  He  immediately  started  to  swing  his  pick. 

"Don't  be  in  such  a  hell  of  a  hurry!"  called 
Sullivan,  "you  '11  have  plenty  to  do  later." 

The  seven  o'clock  whistle  blew  sharply. 
"  Lope  her,  boys ! "  sang  out  the  section  fore- 
man. All  talking  stopped  abruptly,  and  the 
click  of  picks,  swung  with  steady  blows,  and 
the  rasp  of  shovels  echoed  all  along  the  grade. 
Loring,  new  to  "mucking,"  swung  his  pick 
with  all  the  strength  of  his  back,  bringing  it 
down,  with  rigid  full  arm  strokes,  upon  the 
rocky  soil.  The  foreman  noticed  this  with 
amusement.  "He'll  bust  in  an  hour,"  he 
thought;  but  he  only  said :  "Loosen  your  grip 
a  bit  or  you  '11  get  stone-bruises."  Then  he 
passed  on  up  the  line,  to  tell  a  Mexican,  who  had 
already  stopped  to  light  a  cigarette,  that  "this 
ain't  no  rest  cure." 

Hop  Wah  from  the  depths  of  the  cook  tent 
perceived  Loring's  energetic  labors,  and  called 

24 


THE  UP  GRADE 

out  to  him :  "  Hey,  me  bludder,  no  swing  like 
that !  No  damnee  use.  Just  let  him  pick  fall !" 
Stephen  nodded  gratefully,  and  complied  with 
the  practical  advice.  He  worked  steadily,  only 
pausing  to  exchange  his  pick  for  a  shovel, 
whenever  he  had  broken  enough  earth,  or  loos- 
ened some  large  stone.  "Surely,"  he  thought, 
"I  can  keep  this  up  for  ten  hours.  Here,  at 
last,  is  a  job  that  I  can  do." 

Stephen  Loring  had  never  in  his  life  "made 
good."  He  had  started  well  on  many  ventures, 
and  then  given  out.  His  friends  had  at  first  been 
intensely  admiring,  and  had  predicted  great 
things  for  him;  but  gradually  they  had  given 
him  up  as  hopeless.  They  would  have  lent  him 
money  cheerfully;  but  a  determination  not  to 
borrow  was  one  of  his  few  virtues.  In  conse- 
quence, having  fallen  stage  by  stage,  he  was 
now  reduced  to  being  a  day  laborer,  a 
"mucker,"  watched  by  a  foreman  to  see  that 
he  did  not  shirk.  If  the  same  method  had 
been  applied  to  him  earlier,  it  might  have  been 
his  salvation.  As  it  was,  he  had  sunk  beneath 
the  current. 

The  next  hour  seemed  to  Loring  twice  as 
long  as  the  first.  His  wrist  pulsed  with  agony 

25 


THE  UP  GRADE 

from  the  jar  of  the  blows.  He  was  compelled 
to  wrap  his  handkerchief  around  his  right  hand, 
as  he  had  worn  great  blisters  sliding  it  up  and 
down  the  pick  handle.  The  sweat,  as  it  rolled 
down  from  his  forehead,  made  his  cheeks 
smart.  Every  few  minutes  he  was  forced  to 
rest.  At  ten  o'clock  the  time-keeper  came  to 
him,  and,  drawing  a  shabby  brown  book  from 
his  pocket,  entered  Stephen's  name  on  the  rolls. 
Then  he  drew  from  his  pocket  and  handed  to 
Loring  a  brass  tag,  like  a  baggage  check. 
"Your  number  is  four  fifty-three;  keep  this 
now!" 

Stephen  looked  at  the  tag  for  a  second,  then 
slipped  it  into  his  pocket.  It  did  not  jangle 
against  anything.  He  leaned  on  his  pick  handle 
for  a  moment,  and  with  mild  interest  listened 
to  the  time-keeper,  as  he  accosted  the  Mexican 
who  was  working  next  to  him. 

"Eh,  hombre!  What's  your  name?  Como 
se  llama?" 

The  foreman  spoke  sharply  to  Stephen,  and 
with  the  blood  rising  slightly  to  his  temples  at 
the  rebuke,  he  fell  to  work  again. 

Loring  possessed  a  strong  imagination  and 
he  had  solaced  many  a  hardship  by  either  plan- 

26 


THE  UP  GRADE 

ning  for  pleasanter  occupations  in  the  future, 
or  vividly  reconstructing  worse  ones  in  the  past. 
But  imagination  is  a  dangerous  plaything.  The 
men  working  on  either  side  of  him  thought  of 
nothing,  except  perhaps  some  solution  of  the 
great  problem  of  the  human  race,  how  to  make 
the  greatest  possible  show  of  work  with  the  least 
effort.  Stephen,  however,  was  accompanied  in 
his  work  by  imagination.  To-day  it  was  of  a 
sort  which  was  neither  subtle  nor  pleasant.  It 
began  by  saying  to  him:  "You  are  healthy. 
You  will  probably  live  for  thirty  years  or  more. 
They  will  be  pleasant  years,  won't  they  ?  There 
are  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  days  in  a  year, 
so  if  you  work  ten  hours  a  day  for  thirty  years, 
perhaps  you  may  grow  used  to  work.  Work  is 
a  great  companion,  is  it  not,  Stephen  ?  It  is 
unfortunate,"  finished  imagination  glibly,  "that 
you  must  do  this  forever." 

Loring  spoke  aloud  in  answer  to  his  imagina- 
tion, timing  his  syllables  to  the  already  short- 
ened strokes  of  his  pick.  "Not  forever?" 

"Well,"  rejoined  imagination,  "I  see  no  al- 
ternative, do  you  ?  And  what  is  more,"  added 
the  Devil  who  at  this  moment  was  operating 
imagination,  "  You  are  not  even  building  the " 

27 


THE  UP  GRADE 

railroad.     All  you  are  doing  is  moving  rocks. 
Any  one  can  move  rocks." 

By  noon  time  Stephen  was  limp  and  ex- 
hausted. The  hour's  respite  seemed  to  him  to 
go  by  like  a  flash,  and  he  started  upon  the  after- 
noon's work  in  a  hopeless  frame  of  mind,  his 
muscles  stiffened  instead  of  rested  by  the  short 
relaxation. 

After  an  hour's  labor,  he  moved  to  a  place 
where  the  ground  was  soft,  and  for  a  while  his 
delight  in  this  supported  him.  It  is  little  things 
such  as  this  which  make  the  epochs  in  a  day  of 
manual  labor.  As  he  toiled  on  grimly,  in  a  few 
short  hours,  he  had  reversed  his  views  on 
Socialism. 

"Of  course  the  laborer  is  the  chief  factor  in 
production,"  he  murmured  wearily  to  himself, 
as  he  grew  more  and  more  dizzy. 

At  three  o'clock,  McKay,  with  a  surveying 
party,  reached  the  section  of  the  grade  where 
Loring  was  working.  Stephen  watched  him, 
as  he  stooped  over  the  level  and  waved  his 
hand  up  and  down.  He  heard  him  shout  "O.  K. 
back  sight!  Ready  fore  sight!"  Then  "O.  K. 
fore  sight!  'Sta  'ueno!"  and  somehow  the 
cheery  tones  braced  Loring  for  his  work. 

28 


THE  UP  GRADE 

McKay,  as  he  came  up,  nodded  cheer- 
fully: "I  left  that  hat  for  you  in  the  cook 
tent,"  he  said;  "it  will  make  you  look  like 
a  real  man!"  Then  noticing  the  agonized 
swings  of  the  pick,  he  looked  at  Loring 
quizzically. 

"Say,  I  reckon  you  ain't  done  this  sort  of 
thing  for  some  time,  have  you  ?  I  guess  a  short 
spell  at  flagging  would  n't  discourage  you.  Go 
up  to  the  tool-house,  and  get  a  white  flag  that 
you  '11  find  there.  Then  go  up  to  that  point 
back  there,  where  the  wagon  road  crosses  the 
grade.  I  '11  put  another  flagman  on  the  point 
below,  and  when  he  waves,  you  stop  anything 
that  comes  along.  In  a  few  minutes  we  are 
going  to  "shoot"  all  along  here,  and  I  don't 
want  to  blow  up  any  teams  or  people  that  are 
going  up  to  the  copper  camp." 

Loring  dropped  his  pick  with  alacrity,  and 
started  for  the  tool-shed.  As  he  walked  back 
along  the  grade,  he  looked  with  curious  inter- 
est at  the  men  who  were  still  working.  Some- 
how their  labors  seemed  a  part  of  himself.  His 
back  ached  sympathetically  as  they  stooped  to 
their  work.  At  the  shed  he  found  the  dirty 
white  rag  and  stick  which  served  for  flagging. 

29 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Then  he  hurried  to  his  place.  He  passed  Sulli- 
van, who  waved  joyously  to  him. 

"The  boss  has  set  me  flagging,  too.  Gee,  what 
a  graft !  Me  for  a  nap,  as  soon  as  they  start  to 
shoot.  There  won't  any  teams  go  by,  when 
they  hear  the  shots,  and  I  can  get  a  good  sleep." 

"You  had  better  not,"  answered  Loring. 
Then,  feeling  that  it  was  none  of  his  business, 
he  went  on  to  the  place  which  McKay  had  as- 
signed to  him.  He  seated  himself  on  a  large 
rock,  from  which  he  could  see  far  in  all  direc- 
tions. He  was  at  the  end  of  the  grade  nearest 
to  the  copper  camp,  and  he  could  see  the  great 
iron  chimneys  of  the  smelter,  protruding  above 
the  hills  to  the  north,  belching  forth  black 
smoke  against  the  brilliant  blue  of  the  sky. 
"The  whole  country  looks  as  if  it  had  been 
made  with  a  hack-saw,"  he  mused,  as  he  looked 
at  the  jagged  rocks  and  irregular  mountains 
about  him.  "I  would  give  a  great  deal  to  see 
something  green  besides  this  accursed  cactus; 
but  I  suppose  that  grass  and  civilization'  go 
together." 

Then,  watching  for  a  signal,  he  fixed  his  eyes 
on  the  point  of  rock  where  Sullivan  was  sta- 
tioned. After  a  few  minutes  he  saw,  against 

30 


THE  UP  GRADE 

the  brown  background  of  the  rocks,  a  spot  of 
white  move  quickly  up  and  down.  He  imme- 
diately ran  out  into  the  road,  and  stopped  a  line 
of  coke  teams  that  was  coming  down  from  the 
camp.  The  drivers  merely  threw  on  their 
brakes,  and  let  the  thin-boned,  almost  trans- 
parent horses  tug  uselessly  at  the  traces,  until 
they  discovered  the  vainness  of  the  effort.  Then 
horses,  like  drivers,  relapsed  into  the  comatose 
acceptance  of  conditions,  which  in  the  land  of 
the  cactus  becomes  part  of  man  and  beast. 
McKay  came  up  on  horseback,  calling  out  to 
the  first  of  the  drivers :  "  Hold  your  horses ! 
The  e-1-ephants  are  about  to  pass!"  The 
Mexican,  just  as  though  he  had  understood, 
grinned,  then  again  dozed  off. 

One  by  one,  far  down  the  grade,  little  puff's 
of  smoke  began  to  curl  at  the  places  where  the 
drillers'  gangs  had  been  working.  The  men, 
howling  in  mock  terror,  came  tearing  past  the 
place  where  Loring  and  McKay  were  standing. 
They  would  run  several  hundred  yards  further 
than  safety  required  in  order  to  delay  by  a  few 
moments  their  return  to  work  when  the  blasting 
was  finished.  As  the  men  surged  by,  McKay, 
in  spite  of  his  disgust,  grinned. 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Trust  a  Mex  to  find  some  way  to  shorten 
work,"  he  said  to  Loring.  In  rapid  succession 
the  "shots"  began  to  go  off;  whole  sections  of 
the  cliffs  seemed  to  swell,  then  gave  forth  a  fat 
volume  of  smoke,  and  finally  burst,  hurling 
fragments  of  brown-black  rock  against  the  sky 
line.  Then,  a  fraction  of  an  instant  later,  the 
dull,  muffied  boom  carried  to  the  ear. 

"Regular  bombardment,  ain't  it!"  exclaimed 
McKay.  "Wo-op!  duck!"  As  a  large  jagged 
piece  of  shale  came  whizzing  over  their  heads 
he  and  Loring  simultaneously  dropped  to  the 
ground. 

"Ain't  it  funny?"  said  McKay,  as  they  got 
to  their  feet  again.  "Now  time  and  again  these 
things  won't  go  fifty  feet,  then  all  of  a  sudden 
they  chase  a  fellow  who  is  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
away. " 

The  heaviest  "shot"  of  all  was  to  be  fired  in 
a  place  near  Loring's  position,  where  a  deep 
spur  of  black  diorite  protruded  across  the  grade. 
During  five  days  gangs  had  been  drilling  on 
this  spur,  so  that  its  face  was  honeycombed  with 
ten  deep  holes,  for  diorite  is  almost  as  hard  as 
iron,  and  to  make  any  impression  upon  it  re- 
quires an  immense  load  of  powder.  McKay 

32 


THE  UP  GRADE 

himself  had  superintended  the  loading,  patting 
the  charges  firmly  down  with  the  tamping  rod, 
until,  as  he  expressed  it,  he  had  enough  powder 
there  to  "blow  hell  up  to  heaven."  They  had 
waited  to  fire  these  "shots"  until  the  last  of  the 
others  had  exploded,  and  now  the  little  group 
of  men  who  were  nearest  began  to  look  every- 
where for  shelter.  The  waiting  teams  were 
backed  up  close  against  the  ledge,  while  the 
drivers  crawled  underneath  the  wagons  for  pro- 
tection. Loring  and  McKay  stood  beside  a 
large  boulder,  behind  which  they  could  drop 
when  the  explosion  came.  Into  every  niche 
men  crawled,  waiting  for  the  shock. 

The  foreman  bent  over  the  first  fuse,  and  a 
wisp  of  thin  blue  smoke  arose  at  the  touch  of  his 
hand. 

"Hope  he  ain't  cut  the  fuses  too  long," 
growled  McKay  anxiously.  "If  one  of  those 
loads  misses  fire,  it  won't  be  safe  to  work  in  this 
neighborhood."  The  foreman  stepped  quickly 
from  fuse  to  fuse,  and  spurt  after  spurt  of 
smoke  began  to  curl  from  the  rock,  some  hang- 
ing low,  some  rising.  The  foreman  stooped 
over  one  of  the  fuses  for  a  second  time. 

"It's    missed!"    exclaimed    McKay.     "No, 
3  33 


THE  UP  GRADE 

he 's  got  it.  Hey,  beat  it !  Quick  !"  he  shouted, 
as  the  thin  smoke  began  to  turn  from  whitish- 
blue  to  yellow-brown.  The  foreman  ran  back 
up  the  grade  towards  them. 

"The  damned  fool!"  breathed  McKay. 
"Like  as  not  he  '11  kill  himself,  and  it  will  take 
me  a  week  to  find  another  man  who  can  shoot 
the  way  he  can.  About  thirty  seconds  more, 
and  that  rock  is  going  to  jump!" 

Loring  raised  his  eyes.  Far  down  the  grade, 
beyond  the  point,  he  saw  a  speck.  The  speck 
grew  larger  and  became  a  horse  and  rider. 

McKay  saw  it  too.  "  Sullivan  will  warn  him," 
he  said  tersely.  "  My  God  ! "  he  yelled,  "  it 's  a 
woman,  and  her  pony  is  running  away." 

Loring  made  a  jump  into  the  grade  and 
dashed  towards  the  smoke.  The  yellow-brown 
turned  to  the  black-brown  that  just  precedes 
an  explosion.  It  poured  forth  from  the  ground 
like  a  volcano. 

"He  can't  even  reach  the 'shots,'"  gasped 
McKay.  "Oh,  my  God,  where  was  the  other 
flagman  !  Only  fifty  yards  more  —  He  must 
make  it !  —  He  will !  —  He  's  reached  the  spot; 
he  's  past  it.  He  will  —  God,  and  there  's  ten 
shots  there!"  Even  as  he  spoke  the  surface 

34 


THE  UP  GRADE 

of  the  earth  belched  forth  rumbling  thunder 
and  burst  into  fragments.  McKay  dropped 
flat  on  the  ground,  behind  the  sheltering  boulder. 
A  great  cloak  of  brown  smoke  punctured  with 
huge  black  rocks  shut  out  the  scene.  Then, 
with  dull,  splashing  thuds,  the  rocks  began  to 
fall  into  the  muddy  river  which  dragged  itself 
along  beside  the  grade.  First  came  a  few 
solemn  splashes  as  the  large  rocks  fell,  then 
faster,  a  very  hailstorm  of  fragments,  as  the 
smaller  pieces  showered  down.  The  Mexicans 
were  cursing  frantically,  adding  to  the  roar  a 
shrill  pitch. 

The  first  three  "shots"  went  off  in  lightning 
succession.  A  pause,  then  two  more. 

"Five!"  yelled  McKay. 

Then  three  more  "shots"  boomed  deeply. 
McKay  and  the  foreman  knelt  behind  the  boul- 
der, pale,  breathing  hard,  striving  to  guess  what 
lay  behind  that  wall  of  smoke.  Another  pause, 
then  a  terrific  report. 

"Nine,  only  one  more!"  shouted  the  fore- 
man. They  waited  ten  seconds,  —  no  other 
shot.  Then  ten  seconds  more.  They  rose  to 
their  feet  and  started  forward.  "Two  must 
have  gone  off  at  once,"  yelled  McKay.  An- 

35 


THE  UP  GRADE 

other  roar,  and  they  had  barely  time  to  reach 
cover  before  the  shower  of  rocks  again  fell. 

"Ten!  Come  on!"  roared  McKay.  The 
rocks  had  hardly  fallen,  before  he,  followed  by 
a  dozen  others,  was  rushing  through  the  smoke 
to  what  he  knew  must  be  beyond.  The  grade 
was  blocked  with  great  masses  of  rock,  and  by 
the  time  they  had  climbed  over  these  barriers, 
the  smoke  had  cleared. 

They  found  Loring  lying  on  his  face,  his  right 
hand  still  grasping  the  bridle  of  the  dead  horse. 
The  girl  was  kneeling  beside  him.  As  McKay 
reached  her  side,  he  recognized  the  daughter  of 
the  manager  of  the  mine.  He  raised  her  to  her 
feet,  while  as  if  dazed  by  the  miracle  he  repeated : 
"You  ain't  hurt,  Miss  Cameron?  You  ain't 
hurt?"  She  shook  herself  free  from  him,  then 
knelt  again  by  Stephen,  trying  to  stanch  with 
her  handkerchief  the  blood  that  was  flowing 
from  a  great  cut  in  his  temple.  She  looked  up 
at  McKay  with  an  anxious  appeal  in  her  eyes. 
"Is  he  dead?"  she  asked. 

McKay  bent  over,  and  opening  the  rough  shirt 
felt  Loring's  heart.  "  No,  he  's  alive  still,  but  he  's 
pretty  close  to  gone,"  he  answered.  He  untwisted 
the  tight  clenched  fingers  from  the  bridle,  and  half 

36 


"The  girl  was  kneeling  beside  him."      Page 36 


THE  UP  GRADE 

raised  the  unconscious  body.  It  lay  limp  in  his 
arms.  He  turned  to  one  of  the  foremen  who  were 
gathered  around. 

"Smith,  get  a  horse  and  ride  like  hell  for  the 
company  doctor!"  The  man  was  off  for  the 
corral  in  an  instant. 

"Now,  Miss,  you  just  leave  him  to  us  !"  went  on 
McKay.  "  See  now,  your  skirt  is  getting  all  blood." 

For  reply,  she  raised  Loring's  head  gently  and 
placed  it  in  her  lap.  "Now,  send  some  one  for 
blankets  and  water,"  she  directed. 

"  Agua,  hey,  ag-ua!"  shouted  McKay,  and  in 
a  minute  a  little  pale-faced  water  boy  came  stum- 
bling up  with  a  bucket  of  muddy  water.  McKay 
looked  on  in  wonder  while  the  girl  deftly  washed 
the  dirt  from  the  wounds. 

"She  has  her  nerve,"  he  thought.  "There 
ain't  nothing  like  a  woman." 

One  of  the  Mexicans  came  back  from  the  cook 
tent  with  a  blanket,  and  upon  this  they  gently 
lifted  Stephen.  Then  four  men  carried  him  to  the 
nearest  tent.  Jean  walked  beside  them,  holding 
her  wet  handkerchief  tightly  against  Loring's 
forehead,  in  vain  attempt  to  stop  the  bleeding. 
They  laid  him  on  the  ground,  inside  the  tent. 

"Now  you  must  go,  Miss  Cameron,"  implored 
37 


THE  UP  GRADE 

McKay.  "  I  '11  send  you  up  to  camp  in  one  of 
the  teams.  Your  father  would  never  forgive  me 
if  I  let  you  stay.  Why  you  are  as  pale  as  — " 

The  girl  interrupted  him  decisively.  "Are 
there  any  cloths  here  for  bandages?" 

He  looked  hopelessly  around  the  tent  with  its 
pile  of  dirty  quilts. 

"  I  don't  see  anything,"  he  murmured. 

Jean  seized  the  soft  white  stock  about  her  neck, 
and  with  a  quick  tug  tore  it  off.  "This  will  do," 
she  breathed,  as  she  placed  the  impromptu  band- 
age about  Loring's  head. 

"Now  tie  this  !  I  can't  pull  it  tightly  enough." 

McKay  drew  the  ends  of  the  bandage  together,  , 
and  clumsily  knotted  them.  Then  he  thought 
of  his  one  universal  remedy.  Meekly  turning 
to  Jean  he  asked:  "How  about  some  whisky 
for  him?"  She  nodded,  and  he  drew  a  flask 
from  his  pocket.  With  strong  fingers  he  pried 
open  Stephen's  jaws,  and  poured  the  whisky 
down  his  throat.  The  stimulant  brought  a  slight 
color  to  the  mask-like  face. 

"I  guess  he  would  sure  enjoy  this  some,  if  he 
were  conscious,"  thought  McKay  grimly.  The 
men  had  been  sent  back  to  work,  and  only  he  and 
Miss  Cameron  knelt  in  the  tent  by  Stephen,  feel- 

38 


THE  UP  GRADE 

ing  anxiously  for  the  slow  heart-beats  in  the  big 
helpless  frame.  Then  came  the  pound  of  horses' 
hoofs  on  the  road,  the  sliding  sound  of  a  pony 
flung  back  in  full  career  upon  his  haunches,  and 
the  doctor  stood  pulling  open  the  flaps  of  the  tent. 
Jean  rose  to  her  feet. 

"  I  shall  only  be  in  the  way  now,"  she  said,  and 
stepped  outside  into  the  vivid  sunlight. 


39 


CHAPTER  III 

TWO  weeks  had  passed  since  the  accident. 
Loring,  whose  life  had  been  at  first  de- 
spaired of,  was  gaining  fast  in  strength, 
and  enjoying  the  first  real  comfort  that  he  had 
known  in  months.    As  he  lay  quietly  on  the  hard 
canvas  cot,  the  rough  company  hospital  seemed 
to  him  a  dream  of  luxury. 

His  cot  had  been  placed  close  to  the  door,  where 
he  could  look  out  over  the  little  camp.  The  early 
morning  light  brought  the  whiteness  of  the  tents 
scattered  about  the  plateau  into  clear  contrast 
with  the  shadowy  brownness  of  the  surround- 
ing mountains,  while  in  the  sunlight  the  yellow 
pine  framework  of  the  intermingled  shacks 
sparkled  brightly.  The  smelter  pounded  away 
steadily,  great  wreaths  of  smoke  pouring  from  its 
chimneys,  the  blast  sucking  and  breathing  like 
some  huge  driven  beast.  Intermingled  with  the 
sound  was  the  clanging  rasp  of  shovels,  as  the 
smelter  stokers  piled  coke  into  the  furnace.  Over 
on  the  far  mountain  a  wood-laden  burro  train 

40 


THE  UP  GRADE 

was  picking  its  way  slowly  down  the  trail.  In 
the  thin  morning  air  the  tinkle  of  the  bells  on  the 
animals'  necks  and  the  sharp  calls  of  the  drivers 
carried  clear  across  the  valley.  Close  by  the 
smelter,  in  the  midst  of  the  coal  dust  and  cinders, 
stood  a  jaded  horse,  with  a  harness  made  of  chains. 
For  two  days  it  had  fascinated  Loring  to  see  the 
deft  way  in  which  the  driver  hooked  this  horse 
to  the  glowing  slag  pots,  and  drove  him  along 
the  narrow  track  that  led  out  on  the  slag  dump. 
With  the  childishness  of  the  sick,  he  harbored  a 
deep  grudge  against  the  shack,  behind  which 
the  horse,  with  his  molten  load,  would  always 
disappear.  This  prevented  his  seeing  the  opera- 
tion of  dumping  the  slag,  which  he  felt  must  be 
highly  interesting.  At  the  other  side  of  the  door- 
way he  could  just  see  the  corner  of  a  newly  finished 
shack.  He  looked  a  bit  gloomily  at  the  com- 
pleted building,  for  it  had  been  delightful  to 
watch  the  carpenters  at  work  upon  it.  In  two 
days  the  whole  house  had  been  finished,  even 
to  the  tin  roofing.  This  tin  roofing,  by  the 
way,  had  brought  Stephen  much  joy,  for  the 
carpenter's  assistant  had  laid  the  plates  from 
top  down,  instead  of  beginning  at  the  bottom, 
so  that  the  joints  would  overlap  and  be  water- 

41 


THE  UP  GRADE 

tight.     In   consequence   the  whole   roofing  had 
been  ripped  off  and  done  over  again. 

The  morning  shift  was  just  going  to  work,  and 
the  hurrying  groups  of  men  passed  the  door  on 
their  way  up  to  the  mine.  At  the  watering-trough 
each  stopped,  and  plunging  his  canteen  deep  into 
the  water,  held  it  there  until  the  burlap  and 
flannel  casing  was  saturated,  ensuring  a  cooling 
drink  for  them  during  their  work.  Loring  laughed 
at  himself  when  he  found  himself  wishing  that 

O 

they  would  not  all  wear  blue  denim  overalls. 

Little  water  boys  struggled  past,  each  with  a 
pole,  like  a  yoke  across  his  shoulders,  from  either 
end  of  which  hung  a  bucket.  The  men  greeted 
them  as  they  passed,  with  calls  of  "Go-od 
boy !"  "Bueno  muchacho!"  Several  of  the  men, 
as  they  passed,  greeted  Stephen  with  shy  exclama- 
tions of  " Ehj  ami  go-- — Corn  estamos?"  Then 
they  went  on  to  their  work  beneath  the  ground. 
Loring  was  touched  by  these  inquiries  for  his 
welfare,  and  smiled  in  a  friendly  fashion  at 
each. 

Loring's  smile  had  been  one  of  his  worst 
enemies,  for  it  had  so  -often  prevented  people 
from  telling  him  what  they  thought  of  him.  It 
combined  a  sensitiveness  which  was  unexplained 

42 


THE  UP  GRADE 

by  the  rather  heavy  molding  of  his  chin,  with  a 
humor  which  only  one  who  had  carefully  studied 
his  eyes  would  be  prepared  for.  It  was  an  ex- 
asperating smile  to  those  who  did  not  like  him, 
for  it  possessed  a  quality  of  goodness  and  strength 
to  which  they  thought  he  had  no  right  as  an  ac- 
companiment to  his  character.  On  the  other 
hand,  it  was  one  of  the  attributes  which  most 
strongly  attracted  his  friends.  It  was  not  an  analyt- 
ical smile,  so  it  put  him  in  touch  with  unanalytical 
people,  yet  it  had  a  certain  deprecating  twist 
which  could  convey  a  hint  of  subtlety. 

When  the  seven  o'clock  whistle  blew,  Loring 
thought  of  the  gang  at  the  road  camp  lined  up 
for  ten  hours  of  relentless  toil,  and  he  breathed 
deep  in  contentment. 

"It  is  great  to  be  laid  up  for  a  respectable 
cause,"  he  thought.  Memories  of  the  times  that 
he  had  spent  at  an  old  university  in  the  East 
came  to  him.  He  looked  about  him  at  the  rough, 
bare  boards,  at  the  eight  canvas  cots,  at  the  lumps 
on  three  of  them,  where,  wearing  the  inevitable 
pink  or  sky  blue  undershirt,  lay  sick  Mexican 
miners.  He  amused  himself  by  mentally  filling 
with  his  old-time  associates  each  of  the  empty 
cots.  "I  wish  they  were  all  here,"  he  half  ex- 

43 


THE  UP  GRADE 

claimed.  Then  it  occurred  to  him  that  this  was 
not  a  very  kindly  wish.  Loring  heard  the  murmur 
of  voices  outside  the  door,  and  listened  atten- 
tively. He  recognized  the  voice  of  the  company 
doctor.  "It  must  be  time  for  the  morning  clinic," 
he  thought  to  himself.  Then  he  listened  to  the 
brisk  questioning  and  prescribing. 

"You  feeling  much  mal'  ?  Well,  not  so  much 
whisky  next  time ;  get  to  work  ! " 

Stephen  heard  a  low-voiced  question  from 
some  one.  Then  again  the  doctor's  decided  an- 
swer: "Of  course  not!  Hospital  fee  does  not 
pay  for  crutches.  What  do  you  want  for  a  dollar, 
anyhow  ? " 

He  listened  with  interest  as  each  man  de- 
scribed his  symptoms  or  his  needs.  "It  makes 
me  feel  almost  well  to  hear  about  all  those  things," 
he  reflected.  The  broad  shoulders  and  cheerful 
smile  of  the  doctor  appeared  in  the  doorway, 
and  with  heavy  footsteps  the  owner  of  these 
two  pleasant  possessions  approached  Loring. 

"Feeling  pretty  good  this  morning?"  asked 
the  doctor. 

Stephen  answered  that  he  was. 

"That's  fine,"  exclaimed  the  doctor.  "At 
one  time  you  were  a  pretty  tough  case.  I  thought 

44 


THE  UP  GRADE 

we  'd  have  the  trouble  of  a  funeral  in  camp. 
Swell  affairs  they  are,  here.  But  say,  'did  you 
ever  see  a  funeral  in  Phoenix?  Why,  they  trots 
'em  in  Phoenix  !  " 

Loring  expressed  his  admiration  for  such  a 
spirit  of  activity,  while  the  doctor  was  propping 
him  up  in  bed,  and  adjusting  the  bandages.  ' 

"I  guess  you  won't  have  to  work  for  some 
days,"  remarked  the  doctor.  "It  is  lucky  you 
did  one  day's  work,  as  it  just  pays  for  your  hospital 
fee  and  medicine." 

"Hard  luck,  doctor,"  laughed  Stephen,  "but 
that  had  to  go  for  traveling  expenses."  Hearing 
light  footsteps  on  the  porch  outside,  the  doctor 
went  to  the  door.  Loring  heard  him  answer 
some  question. 

"Well,  Miss  Cameron,  I  guess  it  won't  kill  him 
to  see  y0u.  It  may  even  be  good  for  him.  Come 
in  by  all  means  !" 

Loring  looked  up  and  saw  framed  in  the  door- 
way, like  a  picture,  a  girl  frank  of  eyes  and  fresh 
of  coloring.  A  little  Scotch  cap  was  perched  on 
the  waves  of  her  tawny  hair.  Her  gown  was  of 
dark  blue,  relieved  at  neck  and  throat  by  bands 
of  white,  and  girdled  by  a  ribbon  of  red  and  blue 
plaid.  Across  her  arms  lay  a  sheaf  of  yellow  and 

45 


THE  UP  GRADE 

red  wild  flowers  such  as  creep  into  abundant  life 
among  the  forbidding  rocks.  The  vision  seemed 
to  bring  a  new  tide  of  life  and  vigor  to  Loring. 
He  forgot  his  weakness  and  raised  himself  for  a 
moment  on  his  elbow;  but  the  effort  was  too 
much  for  him,  and  he  sank  back  exhausted  on 
his  pillow. 

The  girl  hesitated  for  an  instant.  Then  she 
stepped  quickly  over  to  his  cot. 

"This  is  Miss  Cameron,  Loring,"  explained 
the  doctor ;  "  she  has  come  to  thank  you  for  what 
you  have  done." 

The  girl  impulsively  bent  over  him,  and  took 
his  big,  weak  hand  in  her  own  small,  strong  one. 

"Oh,  I  am  glad  that  you  are  better.  I  would 
have  come  before  to  see  you,  but  the  doctor 
would  not  allow  it." 

Loring  looked  malevolently  at  the  doctor. 

"  How  can  I  thank  you  ? "  she  went  on. 

So  fascinated  was  Stephen  by  the  eager  breath- 
less way  in  which  she  spoke,  that  he  hardly 
understood  what  she  was  saying.  With  difficulty 
he  raised  himself  again  on  his  elbow.  "Why  it 
was  all  in  the  day's  work  of  a  flagman,"  he  said. 
"There  is  nothing  at  all  for  which  to  thank  me." 

She  shook  her  head  in  denial.    "  It  is  not  in  the 


THE  UP  GRADE 

day's  work  of  a  flagman  to  risk  his  life  for  some- 
one whom  he  has  never  seen,"  she  said  quickly. 
"There  is  nothing  that  I  can  say  which  can 
possibly  express  my  gratitude;  but  you  do  know, 
don't  you?"  As  she  spoke  she  looked  at  him 
appealingly. 

Stephen  murmured  something,  he  scarcely  knew 
what,  in  reply,  and  was  conscious  of  wishing 
vaguely  that  the  doctor  would  not  look  at  him. 

Miss  Cameron  laid  her  armful  of  flowers  beside 
him.  As  she  dropped  the  red  and  yellow  sheaf, 
Stephen  noticed  the  delicate  modeling  of  her  wrist, 
and  smiled  appreciatively.  "When  you  are  better, 
my  father  will  see  you,"  continued  the  girl.  "  He 
will  reward  you,  and  — "  With  her  usual  quick 
intuition  she  noticed  the  shade  of  annoyance  on 
his  face.  "That  is,"  she  went  on  rather  slowly, 
"he  will  do  what  he  can  for  you." 

"Thank  you,"  said  Loring,  "but  I  think  that 
in  two  or  three  weeks  I  shall  be  able  to  work 
again." 

"I  am  afraid  if  I  let  you  talk  any  more,  you 
won't  ever  be  able  to  work,"  interrupted  the 
doctor. 

"I  will  come  again  to-morrow,"  said  Jean. 
"If  there  is  anything  that  you  want,  you  must 

47 


THE  UP  GRADE 

let  us  send  it  to  you.    Good-bye,  and  thank  you  !" 
Her  voice  as  she  spoke  had  the  quality  of  sympathy. 

He  watched  her  for  a  moment  as  she  stopped 
by  the  other  cots,  inquiring  in  pretty  broken 
Spanish  for  the  welfare  of  the  occupants.  "  Hang 
it,"  he  thought,  "I  wish  she  would  not  look  at 
that  Mexican  in  just  the  way  that  she  looked  at 
me!"  With  his  eyes  he  followed  her  as  long  as 
he  could,  then  when  the  tents  shut  her  from  view, 
he  closed  his  eyes  and  imagined  that  she  was  still 
near. 

He  picked  up  the  flowers  and  buried  his  face 
in  them.  Their  sweetness  brought  up  a  wave  of 
memories  of  the  past,  of  things  that  he  had  thrown 
away.  He  bit  his  lip  hard  and  under  his  breath 
swore  bitterly  at  himself.  Then  the  fragrance 
of  the  flowers  soothed  him,  and  he  lay  back  on 
his  pillow  thinking  of  the  girl  who  had  brought 
them.  She  seemed  so  strange  a  figure  in  the  life 
of  Quentin,  so  aloof,  so  unrelated  !  He  could  not 
adjust  her  to  her  setting.  At  last  it  occurred  to 
him  that  it  was  not  necessary  for  him  to  adjust 
her  —  in  fact  that  she  and  her  setting  were  none, 
of  his  business. 

Then  tired,  with  the  flowers  still  crushed  in 
his  hand,  he  fell  asleep  to  the  accompaniment 


THE  UP  GRADE 

of  the  monotonous  pound  of  the  smelter.  He 
dreamed  of  days  gone  by,  yet  through  it  all, 
vaguely,  intangibly,  there  drifted  a  girl,  the  ten- 
derness of  whose  eyes  was  blended  with  the  im- 
personality of  pity. 

As  they  walked  together  across  the  camp,  Miss 
Cameron  remarked  to  the  doctor:  "It  is  strange 
how  the  rough  life  here  seems  to  train  men.  He 
seemed  to  be  almost  a  gentleman." 

Doctor  Kline  smiled  in  an  amused  fashion. 

"There's  a  lot  here,  Miss  Cameron,  who  seem 
'almost  a  gentleman/  and  they  are  not  the  best 
kind,  either.  In  fact  they  come  pretty  near  to 
being  the  worst.  Arizona  is  not  the  graveyard 
of  reputations.  It 's  the  hell  that  comes  after 
that.  Men  drift  here  from  every  corner  of  the 
world,  and  from  every  sort  of  life.  The  under- 
current here  is  full  of  derelicts.  Nobody  ques- 
tions about  the  past  or  the  future  here.  They 
just  drift,  and  it  is  not  so  very  long  before  most 
of  them  sink." 

.  In  the  course  of  forty  years  of  varied  experience, 
Dr.  Kline  had  never  made  so  long  a  speech.  He 
stopped  short,  and,  flushing,  looked  quickly  at 
Miss  Cameron  to  see  if  she  were  laughing  at  him. 
Her  serious  expression  reassured  him,  and  he 
4  49 


THE  UP  GRADE 

looked  at  her  again ;  only  this  time  it  was  for  the 
purpose  of  admiration. 

They  had  reached  the  door  of  her  father's 
house.  It  was  called  a  house  and  not  a  shack, 
partly  as  a  matter  of  etiquette,  being  the  manager's 
dwelling,  and  partly  because  it  had  a  porch. 
Also  it  possessed  the  added  grandeur  of  two  small 
wings,  which  were  joined  to  the  one-story,  central 
building. 

Jean  said  good-bye  to  the  doctor  and  went  into 
the  house.  Her  father  was  busy  at  his  desk  with 
some  large  blue  prints  of  the  workings;  but  he 
stopped  when  she  entered. 

"How  is  the  man  getting  along?"  he  asked. 
"  I  hope  that  the  poor  devil  is  n't  laid  up  so  that 
he  can  never  swing  a  pick  again." 

"He  is  much  better,"  answered  Jean,  as  she 
dropped  into  a  big  chair  beside  her  father's  desk, 
"but,  Father,  do  these  men  do  nothing  else  all 
their  lives  beside  swing  picks?" 

Her  father  smiled,  amused  at  the  earnest 
manner.  "Well,  my  dear,  they  are  likely  to  do 
so,  unless  they  develop  aptitude  for  'polishing' 
the  head  of  a  drill,  as  they  say  here.  In  other 
words,  become  miners,  instead  of  'muckers/  in 
which  case  they  get  their  three  dollars  a  day  in- 

50 


THE  UP  GRADE 

stead  of  two.  The  difference  in  social  position, 
however,  which  I  suppose  is  what  you  mean,  is 
not  very  great." 

"I  thought  that  the  West  was  a  place  where 
men  rose  fast  from  the  ranks,  where  the  oppor- 
tunities for  success  lay  at  each  man's  feet,"  said 
Jean  thoughtfully. 

"That  is  partially  true,"  replied  her  father; 
"but  you  must  remember  steadiness  is  needed 
as  much  here  as  anywhere,  and  that  is  a  quality 
which  most  men,  of  a  type  such  as  I  judge  this 
Loring  to  be,  have  not.  Also  to  reach  success 
here  they  have  to  swim  through  a  river  of  whisky, 
and  most  of  them  drown  in  transit." 

Jean  sat  for  a  moment  in  silence,  the  sun  play- 
ing tricks  of  light  and  shade  across  the  ripples  of 
her  hair  and  in  the  depths  of  her  level-gazing 
eyes. 

At  length  she  exclaimed  suddenly:  "Why  is  it 
that  they  all  drink  ?" 

"Why?"  echoed  her  father.  "I  have  been  so 
occupied  with  the  result  that  I  have  had  no  time 
to  consider  the  cause.  The  fact  is  —  they  have 
no  other  form  of  relaxation  here.  Besides,  when 
men  work  seven  days  a  week  all  the  year  round, 
after  a  while  they  reach  a  point  where  they  must 


THE  UP  GRADE 

do  something  to  break  the  tedium,  and  drink- 
ing whisky  is  a  convenient  method." 

"Then  why  do  you  make  them  work  on  Sun- 
day?" asked  Jean.  "Why  not  let  them  rest 
on  that  day  ?" 

Her  father  laughed.  "Well,  it  does  n't  sound 
logical  after  what  I  have  just  said,  but  if  they 
get  Sunday  to  rest,  they  are  all  so  drunk  that  we 
have  not  enough  men  on  Monday  to  start  the 
mines.  We  tried  it  once  .  I  suppose  that  the 
only  explanation  of  the  way  the  men  drink  here 
is  that  they  do.  I  think  it  is  a  germ  in  the  air." 

Mr.  Cameron  turned  again  to  his  work. 
Jean  sat  silently  beside  him  watching  the  firm 
lines  with  which  he  traced  new  winzes,  drifts, 
and  cross-cuts  on  the  prints,  the  precision  with 
which  he  wrote  his  comments  on  the  borders. 

It  was  a  strong  face  which  bent  over  the  table, 
strong,  stern,  'and  telling  of  a  Scotch  ancestry 
in  which  Mr.  Cameron  took  great  pride,  for 
had  not  one  of  his  forefathers  fought  in  the 
army  of  the  Lord  of  the  Isles,  and  another  been 
a  faithful  follower  to  the  end  of  the  hopeless 
Stuart  cause ! 

Clearly  loyalty  was  a  tradition  of  their  race, 
and  typical  of  that  allegiance  which  still  made 


.v- 


THE  UP  GRADE 

all  Scotch  things  dear  to  these  two  descendants 
of  the  old  Highlanders,  which  led  the  father  to 
hang  on  the  bare  walls  of  his  cabin  the  shield 
of  the  Camerons  with  its  armorial  bearings  .of 
"or,  three  bars  gules,"  and  impelled  Jean  to 
wear  a  Scotch  cap,  and  always,  somewhere 
about  her  dress,  a  touch  of  the  red  and  blue 
Cameron  plaid. 

Now,  as  Jean  stood  at  her  father's  side,  it  was 
easy  to  see  the  family  likeness,  for  all  the  soft- 
ening of  age  and  sex,  which  had  changed  the 
lines  of  his  face  to  the  curves  of  hers.  The 
same  spirit  looked  out  from  both  pairs  of  eyes, 
and  if  ever  there  should  come  a  conflict  of 
wills  between  the  two,  there  would  be  as  pretty 
a  fight  as  once  happened  at  Inverlochie,  when 
a  Cameron  and  the  Lord  Protector  fell  foul  of 
each  other. 

Jean  Cameron  had  been  only  a  month  in 
Quentin.  She  had  begged  to  join  her  father  and 
he  had  consented,  although  he  had  assured  her 
that  she  would  disflke  the  life.  But  from  the 
first  she  had  loved  the  place  and  everything 
about  it.  The  atmosphere  of  crude  labor,  the 
men  thrusting  down  into  the  mountains  and 
drawing  out  the  green-crusted  ore,  the  rides 

53 


THE  UP  GRADE 

across  the  trails,  had  brought  her  a  sense  of 
exhilaration. 

She  had  expected  to  find  in  the  West  the 
romance  of  freedom,  of  wildness,  of  the  natural 
type.  Instead,  she  had  found,  and  it  was  in- 
finitely more  fascinating,  the  romance  of  work, 
of  risk  borne  daily  as  a  matter  of  course,  not 
from  love  of  danger,  but  because  it  meant  bread. 
To  a  girl  of  her  keen  perception  there  was  a 
meaning  in  it  all.  It  was  the  first  glimpse  that 
she  had  ever  had  of  a  world  where  the  little 
things  of  life  had  no  existence  and  where  the 
big  things  were  the  little  things. 


54 


CHAPTER   IV 

DURING  his  convalescence,  Stephen  had 
many  callers.  Mr.  Cameron  paid  him 
a  short  visit,  and  briskly  and  efficiently 
expressed  his  gratitude.  At  least  this  was  the 
way  in  which  Loring  characterized  it  to  himself, 
after  his  departure.  From  motives  of  kindness, 
most  of  the  foremen  and  men  from  the  office 
force  came  in  to  see  him ;  from  motives  of  self- 
interest,  the  visits  were  generally  repeated,  for 
Loring  combined  a  drollness,  a  vein  of  narrative, 
and  a  wide  range  of  experiences. 

McKay  was  one  of  those  who  dropped  in 
frequently  to  discuss  the  affairs  of  the  camp  in 
short,  jerky  sentences,  which  alternated  with  the 
puffs  from  his  stubby  black  pipe.  Stephen,  by  a 
great  amount  of  reticence  as  to  his  own  personal 
affairs,  had  won  McKay's  respect  as  a  wise  man. 
He  was  by  nature  of  an  exuberant  temperament; 
but  experience  had  taught  him  that  taciturnity 
was  the  best  way  to  acquire  a  reputation  for 
solidity  in  a  community.  About  four  years  pre- 
55 


THE  UP  GRADE 

vious  to  this  time,  when  he  had  embarked  in 
life  in  the  West,  the  first  man  under  whom  he 
had  worked  had  commented  upon  his  garrulous 
propensities  rather  caustically.  His  words : 
"  You  don't  want  to  talk  too  much  in  this  world, 
young  feller;  it  ain't  pleasant,"  had  been  borne 
in  upon  Loring  to  the  great  improvement  of 
his  character.  McKay  had  once  in  the  course 
of  a  discussion  of  different  men's  capabilities 
expressed  the  Western  view  very  tersely.  He 
had  said:  "The  wisest  man  I  ever  knew  was  a 
fellow  in  Nogales.  I  never  heard  him  open  his 
mouth  once ! " 

Loring's  visitors,  however,  were  not  all  of 
such  a  character.  Every  morning  Miss  Cam- 
eron came  into  the  hospital  and  greeted  Stephen 
with  a  gay  smile  that  made  pain  seem  a  base 
currency  with  which  to  pay  for  such  happiness. 
He  had  come  to  look  forward  to  the  few  min- 
utes during  which  she  talked  to  him  as  the  oasis 
of  his  day.  As  time  went  on,  his  thoughts  of  her 
grew  more  absorbing.  A  man  when  convalescent 
can,  with  the  greatest  of  ease,  fall  in  love  with 
an  abstract  ideal,  so  that  when  a  very  charming 
concrete  example  was  near,  the  process  of  dream- 
ing speedily  crystallized  to  a  point  where  Stephen 

56 


THE  UP  GRADE 

found  himself  very  much  in  love.  For  many 
hours  after  one  of  her  visits  he  lay  staring  at  the 
ceiling,  trying  to  find  some  adjective  by  which  to 
describe  her.  Failing  in  his  direct  search,  he 
fell  back  on  the  method  of  question  and  answer. 
Was  she  beautiful  ?  he  asked  himself.  It  was 
many  years  since  he  had  seen  women  of  her  class, 
and  it  was  hard  for  him  to  find  a  comparative 
standard.  He  was  certain  that  she  was  a  joy  to 
look  upon.  Had  she  sympathy  ?  Her  kindness 
to  the  sick  Mexicans  in  the  hospital  was  a  ready 
answer  to  that  question.  Was  she  feminine  ? 
She  had  a  quality  of  comradeship  and  compan- 
ionship combined,  which  previously  he  had  only 
associated  with  men.  Yet  back  of  it  was  a  latent 
coquetry,  and  unconsciously  it  piqued  him  to  feel 
that  towards  him  there  was  no  trace  of  it.  Strive 
as  he  would,  he  could  find  no  word  which  could 
fit  all  the  opposing  sides  of  her  character,  her 
aloof  frankness,  her  subtle  force. 

" Fall-in-love-withable-ness,"  he  reflected,  "is 
not  a  recognized  word,  and  yet  it  is  the  one 
that  describes  her." 

At  last  came  the  days  when  with  effort  at 
first,  then  with  ease,  he  could  stroll  from  shack 
to  shack  about  the  camp.  He  often  spent  his 

57 


THE  UP  GRADE 

time  in  the  assay  office,  watching  the  assayer 
tend  the  delicate  balances,  or  precipitate  the 
metal  from  the  various  shades  of  blue  liquid 
which  stood  on  the  ledge  by  the  window  in  neat 
rows  of  test-tubes.  Then  there  was  the  tienda, 
where,  sitting  on  a  box  in  the  corner,  he  could 
watch  the  Mexicans  as  they  crowded  up  to  the 
bookkeeper's  window,  loudly  calling  out  their 
numbers,  and  asking  for  coupons.  The  air  in 
the  store  was  always  thick  with  the  smell  of 
"Ricorte"  or  "Pedro"  tobacco.  There  were 
also  in  the  glass  cases  gaudy  tinfoil-wrapped 
cigars,  "Dos  Nationes,"  which  the  more  lavish 
and  wealthy  purchased,  and  which  added  a 
slightly  more  expensive  hue  to  the  smoky  at- 
mosphere. Often,  too,  he  would  loaf  about  the 
draughting-room,  where  at  first  he  amused  him- 
self by  drawing  exceedingly  impressionistic 
sketches  on  the  bits  of  paper  that  were  scat- 
tered about. 

Stephen  possessed  that  rare  quality  of  being 
able  to  loaf  without  being  in  the  way.  His  loaf- 
ing added  a  pleasant  background  to  work  that 
others  were  doing,  instead  of  being  an  irritant. 
Gradually  he  came  to  helping  Duncan,  the  sur- 
veyor, to  check  up  his  figures,  and,  much  to  the 

58 


THE  UP  GRADE 

latter' s  surprise,  in  speedy  fashion  worked  out 
logarithms  for  him.  Loring  as  a  subordinate  al- 
ways did  so  well  that  it  made  his  incompetency, 
when  given  responsibility,  doubly  disappoint- 
ing. Duncan,  whose  mathematical  methods 
were,  though  no  doubt  safer,  far  slower,  grew 
to  have  an  excessive  opinion  of  Loring's  ability, 
and  expressed  it  about  the  camp.  He  often 
questioned  Stephen  as  to  where  he  had  acquired 
his  knowledge  of  logarithms ;  but  Loring  always 
told  him  that  he  had  merely  picked  it  up  at  a 
way  station  on  the  journey  of  life.  As  curiosity 
about  others  rarely  goes  deep  in  Arizona,  the 
subject  had  been  finally  taken  for  granted,  and 
dropped. 

One  day  while  Stephen  was  working  with 
Duncan,  Mr.  Cameron  entered  the  room,  and 
said  abruptly:  "Well,  Loring,  are  you  about 
ready  for  work  ? " 

"Yes,"  said  Stephen,  "I  was  going  to  work 
for  Mr.  McKay  again  to-morrow." 

Mr.  Cameron  paused  for  a  moment,  and 
looked  him  over  carefully.  He  noticed  the  clear 
light  of  the  eyes,  and  he  was  pleased.  He  no- 
ticed the  indecisive  lines  at  the  corners  of  the 
mouth,  hesitated,  and  almost  imperceptibly 

59 


THE  UP  GRADE 

shook  his  head.  Years  of  experience  had  taught 
him  to  read  men's  faces  well.  This  was  the  first 
which  he  had  ever  liked,  and  yet  not  quite 
trusted.  The  combination  of  feeling  puzzled 
him. 

Loring  had  begun  to  flush  a  trifle  under  the 
sharp  scrutiny,  before  Mr.  Cameron  again 
spoke. 

"  I  was  thinking  of  giving  you  a  position  on 
the  hoist.  The  man  on  Number  Three  is  going 
to  quit  to-morrow."  Mr.  Cameron  said  "quit." 
with  a  little  snap  of  the  jaw,  that  left  no  doubt 
as  to  why  the  man  was  going  to  leave.  "Do 
you  know  anything  about  the  work  ? "  he 
went  on. 

Loring's  "No,  but  I  think  perhaps  I  can 
learn,"  seemed  to  irritate  Mr.  Cameron,  who 
exclaimed  :  "  Good  Lord,  man  !  *  think  per- 
haps you  may  be  able  to  learn.'  'Think  per- 
haps !'  Here  you  are  going  to  have  men's  lives 
in  your  hands.  It  is  no  place  for  a  man  who 
thinks 'perhaps.'  Still  I  will  try  you.  You  will 
receive  three  dollars  and  a  half  for  eight  hours, 
and  overtime,  extra.  At  that  the  work  is  not 
hard.  You  can  go  up  to  the  shaft  now.  Colson, 
the  man  whom  you  are  going  to  try  to  replace,  is 

60 


THE  UP  GRADE 

on  shift,  and  he  will  teach  you  what  he  can. 
You  go  on  the  pay-roll  to-morrow."  Cutting 
short  Stephen's  thanks,  Mr.  Cameron  abruptly 
left  the  office. 

Duncan  began  to  chuckle  quietly. 

"  It  is  damned  lucky  for  you,  Loring,  that  you 
did  n't  go  on  much  further  with  your  theories 
of  'thinking  perhaps.'  I  don't  know  where 
you  were  before  you  came  here,  and  I  don't  care ; 
but  here  it  will  help  you  some  to  remember  that 
it  is  only  what  you  do  know  or  can  do  that 
counts." 

Stephen  took  cheerfully  this  good  advice,  and 
after  securing  his  hat,  he  stretched  himself  com- 
fortably in  the  doorway,  then  started  up  the 
hill  to  the  mine.  In  the  hot  glare  he  climbed  the 
tramway  which  led  from  the  hungry  ore  cribs  by 
the  smelter  to  Number  Three  hoist.  He  was 
still  weak,  and  the  climb  tired  him  consider- 
ably. Several  times,  in  the  course  of  the  few 
hundred  yards,  he  stopped  and  rested.  As 
many  times  more  he  was  compelled  to  step  to  one 
side  of  the  track  in  order  to  let  the  funny,  squat, 
little  ore  cars  whiz  by  him,  the  brake  cable  be- 
hind them  stretching  taut,  and  whining  with  the 
peculiar  note  of  metal  under  tension.  When  at 

61 


THE  UP  GRADE 

last,  tired  and  out  of  breath,  he  reached  the 
hoist  box,  Colson  gave  him  a  sour  greeting. 

"Damned  boiler  leaks  like  a  sieve.  Have  to 
keep  stoking  her  all  the  time.  Engine  is  always 
getting  centered.  Wish  you  joy  !  It 's  the  worst 
job  I  ever  tackled." 

In  answer  to  Loring's  request  for  instructions, 
Colson  slowly  wiped  his  hands  on  a  bit  of  oily 
waste,  and  having  taken  a  fresh  chew  of  tobacco, 
proceeded  to  explain  the  working  of  the  drum 
hoist,  and  the  signal  code. 

For  the  rest  of  the  afternoon,  under  Colson's 
supervision,  Stephen  managed  the  clutch  that 
governed  the  cable,  and  at  the  ever  recurring 
clang  of  one  bell,  ran  the  ore  buckets  with  great 
speed  up  the  shaft.  Whenever  the  signal  of 
three  bells,  followed  by  one,  rang  out,  he  brought 
the  buckets  slowly  and  decorously  to  the  sur- 
face, for  that  told  of  a  human  load.  Loring,  in 
spite  of  apparent  clumsiness,  possessed  a  great 
amount  of  deftness,  and  he  was  soon  running  the 
hoist  fairly  well,  although  the  jerks  with  which 
the  engine  was  brought  to  a  standstill  told  the 
miners  that  a  new  and  inexperienced  hand  was  at 
the  clutch. 

At  half-past  three  the  men  of  the  shift  began 
62 


THE  UP  GRADE 

to  signal  to  come  to  the  surface.  Loring  asked 
Colson  how,  when  the  shift  did  not  end  till  four, 
this  was  allowed.  Colson  explained  that  as  the 
mine  was  non-Union,  and  employed  mostly 
Mexican  labor,  the  piece  work  system  was  in 
use.  When  the  men  had  filled  a  certain  number 
of  buckets,  they  could  come  to  the  surface  re- 
gardless of  the  time.  The  result  had  been  that 
more  work  was  accomplished  than  formerly, 
while  the  miners  had  shorter  hours. 

"That  is  all  very  pleasant,"  reflected  Stephen, 
"if  the  company,  having  seen  how  active  the 
men  can  be,  does  not  increase  the  number  of 
buckets  required." 

Shortly  before  four  o'clock  they  were  relieved 
by  the  engineer  for  the  next  shift,  who  under- 
took the  task  of  lowering  the  waiting  men.  Then 
Colson  and  Loring,  picking  up  their  coats, 
walked  slowly  down  the  hill  into  the  camp. 
At  the  smelter  Loring  parted  with  Colson  and 
walked  over  to  his  own  quarters.  Since  his 
dismissal  from  the  hospital,  he  had  been  shar- 
ing a  tent  with  one  of  the  shift  bosses,  —  a  man 
about  whom  Stephen  knew  little  except  the  fact 
that  he  was  named  Lynn,  and  that  he  never 
washed.  The  company  rented  tents  with 

63 


THE  UP  GRADE 

board  floors,  for  two  dollars  a  month,  so  that 
when  the  quarters  were  shared,  household  ex- 
penses were  not  large. 

As  Loring  threw  back  the  wire-screened  door 
of  the  tent,  Lynn,  from  within,  greeted  him  with 
mild  interest. 

"I  hear  they  are  goin'  to  try  you  on  Number 
Three.  Now  over  where  I  used  to  work  in  Black 
Eagle,  they  would  n't  let  a  green  man  even  smell 
the  hoist.  It  ain't  safe,  nor  legal.  But  I  sup- 
pose the  Boss  had  to  give  you  some  job.  All 
wrong,  though." 

Loring  kept  discreet  silence  in  answer  to  this, 
and  after  fetching  a  bucket  of  water,  proceeded 
to  wash  with  many  splashes.  This  annoyed 
Lynn,  who  grunted :  "  How  can  a  man  do  any 
work  with  you  wallowin'  round  like  a  herd  of 
steers  ?"  Then  he  returned  to  his  previous  occu- 
pation of  poring  over  location  papers  for  some 
claims  of  his  "up  yonder."  These  claims  were 
the  joke  of  the  camp,  on  account  of  their  remote- 
ness from  any  known  ore  vein,  yet  Lynn,  un- 
affected by  the  waves  of  exultation  or  depression 
which  from  time  to  time  swept  through  the  camp, 
year  by  year  persisted  in  doggedly  doing  his  as- 
sessment work. 


THE  UP  GRADE 

In  Arizona  almost  every  man,  no  matter  what 
his  occupation  or  station,  has  "some  claims  up 
in  the  hills."  These  claims  furnish  the  romance 
of  his  life,  for  always  beneath  the  grimmest 
present  lies  the  golden  "perhaps"  of  a  rich 
strike. 

Stephen  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  cot,  rolling  a 
cigarette  and  watching  Lynn's  profile. 

"There  are  some  people,"  he  meditated, 
"who  would  not  look  cheerful  if  they  were  paid 
so  much  a  smile."  When  Lynn  had  finished  his 
papers,  he  rose  with  solemn  deliberative  slow- 
ness, took  down  a  black  felt  hat  from  a  wooden 
peg  on  the  tent  pole,  transferred  his  toothpick 
from  the  left  side  of  his  mouth  to  the  right,  and 
slouched  towards  the  door. 

"  Come  on  over  to  grub ! "  he  called  back. 
Loring  joined  him,  and  together  they  walked 
over  to  the  company  mess. 

As  they  picked  their  way  along  the  sordid 
road,  Stephen  looked  at  the  dirty  houses  of  the 
Mexicans  with  a  feeling  of  repulsion.  They 
were  built  from  all  the  refuse  that  could  be 
gathered:  old  sheet  iron,  quilts,  suwara  rods,  a 
few  boards,  broken  pieces  of  glass  and  tarred 
paper.  A  broken-down  wagon,  on  one  wheel, 

5  65 


THE  UP  GRADE 

lurching  in  a  dissipated  fashion  against  a  boul- 
der, added  to  the  disreputability  of  the  tin-can- 
strewn  road.  While  he  and  Lynn  were  plodding 
moodily  along,  Stephen  suddenly  heard  behind 
him  the  clatter  of  horses'  hoofs.  He  turned. 
The  scene  no  longer  seemed  sordid,  for  riding 
up  the  road  was  Miss  Cameron.  Around  her 
rode  five  or  six  little  girls,  —  the  camp  children, 
—  their  legs,  too  short  to  reach  the  stirrups, 
stuck  in  the  leathers,  their  hair  flying  in  all 
directions,  while  their  stiff"  little  gingham  dresses 
fluttered  in  the  breeze.  Jean,  riding  a  gray  pony, 
sat  clean  limbed  and  lithe  across  the  saddle. 
The  deep  full  modeling  of  breast  and  thigh,  the 
proud  carriage  of  the  shoulders,  and  the  easy 
swing  of  her  body  to  the  lope  of  the  horse  —  all 
bespoke  high  health  and  keen  enjoyment.  Her 
khaki  skirt  fell  on  either  side  in  yellow  folds 
against  the  oiled  brown  of  the  saddle.  She 
wore  no  hat,  and  the  sunlight  struck  clear  and 
sparkling  upon  her  tawny  hair.  Her  color  was 
fresh  from  the  sting  of  the  wind. 

Stephen  stepped  aside  to  let  the  little  cavalcade 
pass;  but  Miss  Cameron  reined  in  her  pony, 
and  smilingly  greeted  him  and  his  companion. 
Her  convoy  of  little  girls  bade  her  a  grateful 

66 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"good-bye,"  and  scattered  to  their  homes  in  the 
various  parts  of  the  camp. 

"You  seem  to  be  a  'Pied  Piper  of  Hamelin,"3 
remarked  Stephen,  looking  up  at  her.  Lynn 
for  some  reason  appeared  uneasy. 

"  No,  I  don't  decoy  them,"  she  answered.  "  In 
fact,  I  try  hard  to  get  away  from  them,  but  they 
are  not  allowed  to  ride  alone  in  the  valley,  and 
consequently  whenever  they  see  my  pony  sad- 
dled they  swarm  about  me  like  bees  and  cannot 
be  shaken  off.  Are  you  sure  that  you  are  strong 
enough  to  be  out  of  the  hospital  ?"  Miss  Cam- 
eron added,  scrutinizing  Stephen  with  friendly 
solicitude. 

Loring  was  busying  himself  with  the  problem 
of  whether  her  eyes  were  really  gray  or  blue. 
He  gathered  his  wits  together  however  to  answer 
that  he  was  growing  better  steadily. 

"Well,  good  night,  and  be  sure  to  continue  to 
get  better!"  The  girl  shook  the  reins  of  her 
pony,  and  galloped  off  towards  the  corral. 

Lynn  could  no  longer  contain  himself. 

"Look  a-here,  Loring.  I  don't  know  where 
you  was  brought  up,  but  Miss  Cameron  is  a  lady, 
if  ever  I  seed  one,  and  whar  I  come  from,  gen- 
tlemen don't  call  ladies  *  Pi-eyed  Pipers.' ' 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Stephen,  with  a  start,  came  out  of  his  wistful 
mood,  then  almost  collapsed  with  laughter. 
Lynn  stalked  along  in  silent  wrath,  not  speak- 
ing another  word  until  they  entered  the  mess 
room. 

It  was  half-past  five,  and  the  room  was  still 
crowded,  though  that  many  had  come  and  gone 
was  attested  by  the  pools  of  coffee  on  the  zinc 
tables,  the  bread  crumbs  on  the  floor,  and  the 
great  piles  of  dirty  dishes.  In  a  mining  camp 
five  o'clock  is  the  fashionable  supper  hour,  and 
he  who  comes  late  has  cause  to  rue  it.  Loring 
and  his  companion  cleared  places  for  themselves, 
and  after  the  necessary  preliminaries  of  wiping 
their  cracked  plates  on  their  sleeves,  and  obtain- 
ing their  share  from  the  great  bowl  of  stew  in  the 
center  of  the  table,  they  proceeded  to  eat  in 
businesslike  silence.  There  had  been  a  time 
when  such  surroundings  would  have  taken  away 
Stephen's  appetite,  but  that  was  far  away. 
The  proprietor  walked  frequently  up  and  down 
the  room,  answering  mildly  the  contumely 
heaped  upon  the  food.  He  carried  a  large  bucket 
from  which  he  replenished  the  coffee  cups. 
Stephen  quickly  reached  the  dessert  stage  of  the 
meal,  and  the  proprietor  set  that  course  before 

68 


THE  UP  GRADE 

him.  It  consisted  of  two  very  shiny  canned 
peaches,  floating  in  a  dubious  juice. 

The  man  who  owned  the  eating  house  was  of 
a  quiet,  depressed  nature  developed  by  years  of 
endeavor  to  please  boarders'  appetites  at  one  dol- 
lar a  day  and  make  a  profit  of  seventy-five  cents. 
Ordinarily  dessert  consisted  of  one  canned  peach. 
Loring's  double  allowance  was  a  silent  tribute  to 
the  fact  that  he  did  not  rail  at  the  food  as  did  the 
others,  and  to  the  fact  that  once,  when  the  pur- 
veyor had  "spread  himself"  and  served  canned 
oysters,  Stephen  had  thanked  him.  This  had 
been  the  third  time  that  the  man  had  been 
thanked  in  all  his  life,  and  he  stowed  it  away 
in  his  strange  placid  brain. 

When  Stephen  had  finished  his  meal,  he  rose 
and  joined  the  group  of  men,  who,  as  customary 
after  supper,  were  lounging  on  the  steps.  The 
proprietor,  wearing  his  usual  apologetic  smile, 
soon  joined  them. 

"  Pretty  good  supper,  boys  ? "  he  remarked 
tentatively. 

Some  one  in  the  crowd  moaned  drearily. 
"Say,  I  know  what  good  food  is.  I  used  to  eat 
up  at  the  Needles,  at  a  place  so  swell  they  give 
Mexicans  pie.  Reg'lar  sort  of  Harvey  house,  that 


THE  UP  GRADE 

was."  The  proprietor,  still  smiling,  sadly  with- 
drew, and  the  crowd  returned  to  its  former  oc- 
cupations :  commenting  on  the  thin  ponies  of 
the  Mexicans  who  galloped  by,  and  trying  to 
catch  the  eyes  of  the  senoritas  as  they  strolled 
past,  arm  in  arm,  seemingly  stolid  alike  to  the 
attentions  and  to  the  jests  of  the  men. 

Many  of  the  Indians,  who  had  been  brought 
from  the  San  Carlos  Reservation  to  work  on  the 
railway  grade,  were  in  camp  to  make  their  sim- 
ple purchases  of  supplies.  Stephen  noticed  with 
disgust  the  way  the  braves  sat  astride  their  ponies 
with  indolent  grace,  while  beside  them  walked 
the  squaws,  with  the  papooses  slung  in  blankets 
over  their  shoulders. 

"Good  example  of  the  '  noble  redman,'  is  n't 
it!"  he  exclaimed  to  McKay. 

"Well,  what  can  you  expect?"  chuckled  the 
latter.  "You  know  in  their  marriage  ceremony 
the  brave  puts  the  bit  of  his  pony  in  the  mouth  of 
his  prospective  bride.  Sort  of  a  symbol  of  equal- 
ity and  companionship  between  man  and  wife, 
I  reckon." 

As  the  twilight  turned  to  dusk,  the  group 
gradually  dissolved,  till  Loring  alone  was  left 
on  the  steps.  It  was  peaceful  there,  and  as  he 

70 


THE  UP  GRADE 

drew  on  his  old  black  pipe,  a  healthy  feeling  of 
contentment  permeated  him.  He  felt  that  he 
could  do  his  new  work  well.  His  last  lessons,  he 
thought,  had  taught  him  concentration.  He 
saw  himself  working  up  again  to  a  position  of 
power.  For  some  reason  that  even  to  himself 
was  only  vaguely  defined,  he  felt  that  now  it  was 
all  infinitely  worth  while.  As  for  drink,  he 
merely  thought  of  it  as  an  episode  of  the  past. 
Stephen's  worst  fault  lay  in  not  grappling  with  his 
enemies  until  they  had  him  by  the  throat.  As  he 
sat  smoking  and  dreaming,  he  was  aroused  by  a 
cheerful  salutation. 

"Howdy,  me  bludder  ?  Me  bludder,  he  feel 
fine?" 

Stephen  looked  up  to  see  Hop  Wah  standing 
in  the  road  before  him.  With  his  derby  hat, 
yellow  face,  coal  black  pig-tail,  and  with  a 
five-cent  cigar  drooping  from  one  corner  of  his 
mouth  Wah  was  a  strange  combination  of  Occi- 
dent and  Orient. 

"Fine,  thanks  !"  answered  Loring,  "but  what 
are  you  doing  up  here  in  camp  now,  Wah  ?" 

Wah  proudly  puffed  at  his  cigar,  and  blew  a 
wreath  of  gray  smoke  from  between  his  flat  lips. 

"  Me  cook  for  the  company  here,  now.    Makee 


THE  UP  GRADE 

pie  ebbrey  day.  Oh,  lubbly,  lubbly  pie !  Me 
bludder  come  to  back  door,  and  I  give  him  some. 
Oh,  lubbly,  lubbly  pie !  Goodee  bye.  Goodee 
bye,  me  bludder!"  Then  Wah  departed  in  the 
direction  of  the  tienda,  marching  cheerfully 
along  to  his  old  refrain:  "La,  la,  boom,  boom; 
la,  la,  boom,  boom." 

"The  crazy  Chinaman!"  laughed  Stephen. 
"He  certainly  enjoys  life,  though."  Loring  rose 
and  knocked  out  the  ashes  of  his  pipe  on  the 
steps.  Then  he  walked  towards  his  tent.  They 
were  just  dumping  the  slag  from  the  smelter,  and 
he  watched  the  glowing  slag  pot  shoot  along  the 
track  in  front  of  him.  As  if  by  magic  it  checked 
at  the  end  of  the  heap,  and  poured  its  molten, 
flashing  stream  far  over  the  embankment.  The 
whole  camp  glowed  with  a  clear,  all-suffusing 
orange  light.  The  outline  of  the  surrounding 
mountains  loomed  out  blue-black.  The  glow 
faded  to  dull  red,  then  dwindled  to  a  mere 
thread  of  light,  then  disappeared,  and  all  was 
dark  again. 

During  the  next  two  months,  with  a  concentra- 
tion of  which  he  had  never  before  thought  him- 
self capable,  Stephen  slaved  at  learning  his  task. 
To  feel  that  in  his  hands  lay  the  lives  of  the  six- 

72 


THE  UP  GRADE 

teen  men  of  the  shift  gave  him  a  sense  of  respon- 
sibility, which  in  all  his  former  work  had  been 
completely  lacking.  He  was  so  faithful  in  the 
performance  of  his  duties  that  even  the  critical 
Mr.  Cameron  was  secretly  pleased,  while  Jean 
watched  with  growing  interest  her  father's  ex- 
periment, and  felt  that  at  last  Loring  had  ceased 
to  drift. 

Stephen,  on  his  pan,  carried  in  his  heart  one 
memory  which  shortened  his  working  day,  glad- 
dened his  leisure  hours,  and  left  no  time  for  vain 
regrets.  This  was  the  thought  of  one  evening 
which  he  had  spent  at  Mr.  Cameron's  house,  on 
the  occasion  of  a  "Gringo"  dance,  whereto  all 
the  workers  in  camp,  except  the  Mexicans,  had 
been  bidden,  in  celebration  of  Washington's 
birthday. 

Often  did  Stephen  recall  the  flag-draped  room, 
the  Mexican  orchestra,  which  in  color  resembled 
a  slice  of  strawberry,  vanilla,  and  chocolate  ice- 
cream. He  remembered  the  lantern-lighted  porch, 
its  lamps  blending  with  the  soft  darkness  of  the 
southern  night,  hung  with  its  own  lanterns  of 
stars. 

But  all  these  were  only  a  background  of  his 
real  memories,  which  were  the  warm  touch  of 

73 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Jean's  hand,  as  he  had  held  it  in  the  dance  for 
five  blessed  minutes,  and  the  sound  of  her  voice 
as  she  had  talked  with  him  on  the  porch,  in  the 
brief  intervals  when  the  guests  had  gathered 
around  the  musicians,  to  invoke  the  "Star  Span- 
gled Banner"  and  urge  that  long  might  it 
"Wa-a-ave!" 

What  they  had  talked  about  Stephen  scarcely 
knew;  but  he  had  a  confused  impression  that 
under  the  commonplaces  of  their  talk  had  lurked, 
on  her  part,  a  hint  of  friendship  which  made  his 
dreams  perhaps  not  quite  so  wild,  for  he  recog- 
nized in  her  something  softly  invincible  which 
once  having  given  friendship  would  never  with- 
draw it,  though  the  skies  fell.  In  fact,  while 
Loring  was  playing  cards  over  the  mess 
table  one  evening,  Jean  was  putting  her  friend- 
ship to  the  proof  in  another  quarter  of  the 
camp. 

"Father,  he  is  a  gentleman."  Jean  made  this 
remark  after  a  period  of  silence,  during  which 
she  had  sat  on  the  porch  of  the  shack,  contem- 
plating the  moon  as  it  rode  high  in  the  unclouded 
sky. 

"Who  is  a  gentleman  ?  The  man  in  the  moon  ?" 
As  he  asked  the  question,  Mr.  Cameron  withdrew 

74 


THE  UP  GRADE 

his  cigar  from  his  mouth,  and  puffed  the  smoke  in 
leisurely  rings  into  the  air. 

"No,"  Jean  answered,  "not  the  man  in  the 
moon;  the  man  on  the  hoist,  Stephen  Loring." 

"What  made  you  think  of  him  ?" 

"I  met  him  this  afternoon  in  the  valley.  That 
put  him  into  my  head." 

"Well,  I  advise  you  to  take  him  out  again." 

"Not  at  all.  I  shall  keep  him  there.  He  in- 
terests me,  because  he  is  a  gentleman." 

"What  are  the  hall-marks  of  a  gentleman  ?" 

"Oh,"  said  Jean  slowly,  "there  are  a  hundred 
little  signs  which  cannot  be  suppressed.  A 
deacon  may  turn  into  a  horse  thief,  or  a  mil- 
lionaire into  a  beggar;  but  once  a  gentleman, 
always  a  gentleman.  Mr.  Loring  tries  to  hide 
it;  but  he  cannot.  Oh,  haven't  you  noticed 
the  difference?" 

"  Between  Loring  and  the  other  men  ?  No,  I 
cannot  say  that  I  have.  But  I  am  not  particu- 
larly interested  in  the  question  whether  my  hoist 
engineers  are  gentlemen." 

"Don't  you  think  you  ought  to  be  ?" 

"Why?" 

Jean  clasped  her  hands  around  her  knee  and 
looked  out  over  the  dim  hills  bathed  in  the  mist 

75 


THE  UP  GRADE 

of  the  moonlight.  After  a  while  she  said:  "It 
must  be  very  lonely  for  a  gentleman  in  a  camp 
like  this." 

"If  you  are  thinking  of  Loring,"  said  her  father, 
"he  is  busy  all  day  and  he  can  go  to  the  mess  in 
the  evening." 

"The  mess!"  exclaimed  Jean  scornfully.  "Yes, 
a  fine  place  for  a  gentleman,  where  the  men  chew 
tobacco  and  drink  whisky  all  the  evening,  and 
tell  stories  as  long  as  they  are  broad  !" 

"All  terribly  offensive  no  doubt  to  a  sensitive 
soul  like  your  Mr.  Loring,"  answered  Mr.  Cam- 
eron. "Perhaps,"  he  added  with  fine  sarcasm, 
"you  would  like  to  have  him  take  his  meals  with 
us." 

"Yes,  I  would  like  to  ask  him  here  sometime. 
It  is  good  in  you  to  think  of  it,"  replied  his  daugh- 
ter calmly. 

"  It  cannot  be  done,  Jean.  It  cannot  be  done," 
Mr.  Cameron  said  with  decision.  "Discrimina- 
tion among  the  men  breeds  discontent.  I  think 
that  we  have  done  full  enough  for  Loring  as  it  is." 

"  Do  you  ? "  Jean  responded,  with  the  audacity 
of  a  hot  temper.  "Well,  I  do  not;  but  then  it 
was  my  life  that  he  saved,  and  perhaps  that  makes 
me  see  the  thing  differently.  I  am  thinking  that 

76 


THE  UP  GRADE 

when  a  man  saves  your  life  you  cannot  get  rid 
of  the  obligation  by  throwing  him  a  job,  as  you 
might  toss  a  bone  to  a  dog.  I  am  thinking  that 
he  has  some  claim  on  the  life  that  he  has  given 
back,  and  that  the  other  person  should  spend  a 
little  of  it  in  doing  something  for  him." 

"And,  pray,  what  has  his  being  a  gentleman  to 
do  with  all  this  ? "  asked  Mr.  Cameron,  whose 
wrath  took  the  form  of  sarcasm.  "  Suppose  that 
Colson  or  Lynn  had  saved  your  life,  would  you 
have  wished  to  have  him  at  the  house  ?" 

"Neither  of  them  would  have  wished  to 
come." 

"That  is  not  honest,  Jean.  You  know  that 
they  would;  but  you  would  never  ask  them, 
except  to  one  of  your  camp  dances.  You  would 
not  if  they  had  saved  your  life  twenty  times." 

"I  should  try  to  do  something  for  them,  some- 
thing that  they  would  like ;  but  if  people  are  not 
of  your  kind  there  is  no  use  in  inviting  them. 
There  is  no  kindness  in  it  in  the  end." 

"Perhaps,"  said  her  father,  "there  would  prove 
to  be  no  kindness  in  the  end  in  what  you  wish  to 
do  for  Loring." 

"Very  well.  There  is  no  use  in  arguing  with  a 
Scotchman;  but  I  warn  you  that  I  shall  make  it 

77 


THE  UP  GRADE 

up  to  him  in  friendliness.  The  other  men  can 
scarcely  object  to  that." 

With  these  words  Jean  rose  from  the  steps  and, 
passing  through  the  door,  entered  the  little  living- 
room  where  she  picked  up  a  guitar  from  the 
window-seat,  and  to  its  accompaniment  began  to 
sing  in  a  low  voice.  What  was  the  song  she 
chose?  Why,  it  was  "Jock  o'  Hazeldean."  If 
ever  a  song  expressed  flat  mutiny  it  is  that  one, 
and  it  lost  nothing  in  expression  from  Jean 
Cameron's  rendering,  from  the  beginning  where 
the  heroine  refuses  to  be  commanded  or  cajoled, 
to  the  last  line  where  "  She  's  o'er  the  border  and 
awa'  wi'  Jock  o'  Hazeldean." 

Mr.  Cameron  was  justified  in  being  angry; 
but  who  could  resist  a  voice  like  Jean  Cameron's  ? 
Evidently  not  Jean's  father,  for  when  the  girl 
came  out  again  and  smiling  laid  her  hand  upon 
his  shoulder,  Mr.  Cameron  relaxed  the  grimness 
of  his  expression. 

"Well,  well,  lassie,  we  will  see  what  can  be  done 
for  your  gentleman  engineer,"  he  said  encourag- 
ingly; "but  don't  be  'o'er  the  border  and  awa" 
with  Jock,  till  we  know  a  little  more  about  him, 
and  about  what  is  thought  of  him  in  Hazeldean." 


CHAPTER  V 

[,  Loring.  Have  you  heard  the  news  ?" 
Stephen,  on  his  way  to  breakfast,  on 
the  morning  of  the  Fourth  of  July, 
stopped  until  McKay  joined  him. 

"No.     What  is  the  matter  ?" 

"There  is  to  be  a  half  holiday  to-day,"  went 
on  McKay. 

"The  devil  there  is !  I  did  not  know  that  such 
things  existed  this  side  of  heaven." 

"In  which  case  you  would  never  see  one," 
laughed  McKay.  "  But  to-day  there  is  to  be  one. 
In  my  opinion,  we  owe  it  to  Miss  Cameron's  in- 
fluence with  her  father.  Every  one  can  knock 
off  work  at  twelve  o'clock.  Look  at  the  notice !" 

On  the  office  wall,  beneath  the  usual  "No 
Entrada — Oficina,"  was  a  big  placard  which  con- 
veyed the  news  in  English  and  Spanish.  Stephen 
read  it  with  satisfaction. 

"I  think  that  will  make  breakfast  taste  rather 
well.  What  is  your  opinion,  Mac  ?" 

"That  comes  pretty  close  to  my  jedgments," 
79 


THE  UP  GRADE 

answered  McKay.    "  Hey,  Wah,  you  crazy  China- 
man ;  quit  hammering  that  gong ! " 

This  last  was  addressed  to  Hop  Wah,  who  was 
standing  on  the  porch  of  the  eating  house,  ham- 
mering with  a  railroad  spike  upon  an  iron  gong. 

"Me  hab  to.  Else  me  lazy  pig  bludders  allee 
late.  La,  la,  boom,  boom  !  Breakfas'.  Nice  hot 
cakes.  Oh,  lubbly,  lubbly  cakes ;  eggs  this  morn- 
in'.  Goodee  canned  eggs.  Oh,  lubbly;  la,  la" 
Wah  fled  precipitately  into  the  kitchen,  as  Loring 
and  McKay  made  gestures  of  killing  him. 

They  were  the  first  at  the  mess,  and  while  the 
sleepy  stragglers  filed  in,  one  by  one,  they  ate 
their  oatmeal  in  comfort.  They  took  a  lazy 
pleasure  in  watching  the  surprise,  and  listening 
to  the  ejaculations,  with  which  the  news  of  the 
half  holiday  was  received.  "Thin  Jim,"  who 
always  presided  at  the  head  of  the  table,  on  ac- 
count of  his  so-called  "boarding  house  arm," 
which  enabled  him  to  be  of  vast  service  as  a  waiter, 
professed  to  be  so  astounded  at  the  news  as  to  be 
incapable  of  performing  his  duties. 

"What  with  a  dance  on  Washington's  birth- 
day, and  a  half  holiday  to-day,  why,  we're  be- 
comin'  sort  of  a  leisure  class,"  he  remarked. 

"Well,    look    out   that   you    don't    deteriorate 
80 


THE  UP  GRADE 

under  the  strain,"  laughed  Loring.  "Has  any 
one  a  match  ?"  The  only  real  system  in  all  Lor- 
ing's  habits  of  life  was  his  custom  of  rising  early 
enough  to  have  time  for  a  smoke  between  break- 
fast and  work. 

In  the  afternoon  the  camp  was  alive  with  shouts 
and  hilarity.  On  the  slag  dump  two  baseball 
games  were  in  progress,  of  such  excitement  that 
the  umpires  had  early  withdrawn;  while  some 
one  had  established  in  the  gulch  an  impromptu 
shooting  gallery,  whence  the  quick  rattle  of  re- 
ports told  of  financial  success. 

Stephen  sat  with  Duncan  on  the  steps  of  the 
assay  office  while  the  latter  checked  up  his  figures 
for  the  morning's  work. 

"The  ore  from  Number  Three  is  running  six 
per  cent  these  days,"  he  exclaimed,  as  he  tossed 
his  note-book  into  the  office. 

Together  they  watched  the  trail  leading  out 
from  the  camp,  down  which  rode  little  groups  of 
horsemen,  lounging  in  the  saddle.  The  smoke 
from  their  cigarettes  trailed  thinly  blue  behind 
them. 

" There  goes  domesticity  for  you,  Steve!"  said 
Duncan.  He  pointed  to  a  family  group  riding 
by.  Old  Tom  Jenkins,  the  smelter  boss,  with 
6  81 


THE  UP  GRADE 

his  wife,  was  starting  for  a  trip  to  the  river.  Three 
children  were  strung  in  various  attitudes  across 
their  saddles. 

"It  seems  as  if  every  one  were  going  for  a 
ride,"  commented  Stephen.  "Shall  we  fall  in 
line  with  the  popular  amusement?" 

"I  haven't  got  a  horse,"  answered  Duncan, 
"and  all  the  company  caballos  will  be  out  to-day. 
I  heard  old  Hodges  down  at  the  corral  after 
lunch  cursing  like  a  pirate  at  the  amount  of 
saddling  that  he  had  to  do.  Right  in  the  midst 
of  his  growling,  Miss  Cameron  came  along,  and 
wanted  a  horse.  The  old  man  pretty  nearly  fell 
over  himself  trying  to  accommodate  her.  There  's 
something  about  her  that  seems  to  affect  people 
that  way.  Quite  a  convenient  trait,  I  should 
think!" 

Stephen  agreed  silently,  and  in  his  mind  added 
considerably  more,  then  strode  off  to  the  corral 
for  his  pony. 

As  he  slung  the  saddle  across  his  horse's  back 
and  cinched  the  girth,  he  fumbled  a  little,  for 
his  mind  was  not  upon  the  task,  but  upon  a  cer- 
tain curl,  which  defying  combs  or  hairpins,  waved 
capriciously  at  the  turn  of  a  girl's  neck. 

Horses,  however,  have  little  sympathy  with 
82 


THE  UP  GRADE 

sentiment,  and  while  Loring  tugged  absent- 
mindedly  at  the  straps,  the  little  beast  puffed 
and  squealed,  trying  to  arrange  for  a  comfort- 
able space  between  his  round,  gray  belly  and  the 
girth.  Stephen,  placing  his  left  hand  on  the  head- 
piece, and  his  right  on  the  pommel,  swung  him- 
self into  the  saddle,  in  spite  of  the  pony's  antics. 
Soon  he  was  loping  out  of  camp,  and  down  towards 
the  river.  The  clear  sunshine  struck  his  neck 
beneath  his  broad  hat;  the  alkali  dust  tasted 
smoky  and  almost  invigorating. 

As  he  left  the  camp  behind  him,  he  laughed 
and  sang  softly  to  himself,  beating  with  his  un- 
spurred  heel  the  time  of  his  song  against  his 
pony's  ribs.  He  blessed  the  extravagance  which 
had  led  him  to  invest  half  a  month's  pay  in  "Muy 
Bueno"  as  the  horse  was  christened  to  indicate 
the  owner's  assurance  that  he  was  "very  fine." 
Leaning  forward,  Loring  playfully  pulled  "Muy 
Bueno  s  "  ears.  The  pony  shook  its  head  in  annoy- 
ance. This  was  no  holiday  for  him. 

After  a  short  distance  the  ground  began  to  rise, 
and  the  pony,  with  lowered  head,  buckled  to  his 
task,  resolutely  attacking  the  trail  which  zig- 
zagged up  the  steep  mountainside. 

Half  way  up  the  rise  stood  a  saloon.    As  Loring 

83 


THE  UP  GRADE 

approached  it,  he  heard  roars  of  laughter.  In  it 
there  was  that  quality  which  only  liquor  can  pro- 
duce. As  he  drew  nearer  he  could  see  the  reason 
for  the  laughter.  Before  the  saloon  was  a  girl 
on  horseback,  her  pony  balking,  and  flatly  refus- 
ing to  proceed.  The  doorway  was  full  of  half 
drunken  miners,  calling  out  advice  of  varied  im- 
port. The  saloon  keeper,  himself  a  bit  flushed, 
called  out :  "  She  's  got  Tennessee  Bob's  old  pony. 
He  never  would  go  by  here  without  taking  a 
drink,  and  I  reckon  the  horse  sort  of  inherited 
the  habit." 

Stephen  took  in  the  situation  at  once.  Riding 
up  quickly,  he  cut  the  stubborn  pony  across  the 
flank  with  his  quirt.  The  animal  quivered  for 
a  moment,  then  as  another  stinging  blow  fell, 
galloped  on  up  the  trail. 

"Hell,  Loring!  what  you  want  to  do  a  thing 
like  that  for  ?  Funniest  thing  I  've  seen  in  a 
month,"  growled  a  man  in  the  crowd. 

Stephen  only  waved  his  hand  in  answer  and 
rode  on  after  the  girl,  whom  he  had  no  diffi- 
culty in  recognizing.  A  couple  of  hundred  yards 
of  hard  riding  brought  him  up  with  her. 

Jean's  cheeks  were  still  crimson,  but  it  was  as 
much  from  laughter  as  embarrassment. 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Really,  Mr.  Loring,"  she  exclaimed,  half 
breathlessly,  "you  seem  to  be  always  in  the 
position  of  a  rescuer." 

"Your  horses  do  seem  to  have  a  taste  for  ad- 
venture," he  replied.  "  Perhaps  I  may  be  allowed 
to  accompany  you  on  your  ride  this  afternoon," 
continued  Stephen.  "There  might,  you  know, 
be  other  saloons  which  your  pony  was  in  the  habit 
of  visiting." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  safer,"  assented  Jean. 

They  were  nearing  the  crest  of  the  hill,  and  the 
trail  broadened  so  that  they  could  ride  abreast. 
A  bevy  of  quail  flushed  suddenly  up  from  the 
ground,  strumming  the  air  sharply.  A  little 
further  on,  a  jack-rabbit  jumped  into  the  center 
of  the  trail,  looked  about,  then  dove  into  the 
underbrush.  To  a  mind  in  its  normal  condition, 
these  things  were  but  commonplaces.  To  Stephen 
it  seemed  as  if  all  nature  were  in  an  exuberant 
mood.  The  very  creak  of  the  leather,  or  ring  of 
steel,  as  now  and  then  one  of  the  horses'  hoofs 
struck  on  stone,  fell  in  with  the  tenor  of  his 
spirits.  There  are  few  men  who  could  ride  over 
the  Arizona  hills  with  Jean  Cameron  and  doubt 
the  gloriousness  of  existence. 

At  the  summit  they  drew  rein  to  breathe  the 

8s 


THE  UP  GRADE 

horses.  Before  them  lay  the  valley  of  the  "  Drip- 
ping Spring  Wash."  For  miles  the  belt  of  white 
sand  in  the  bottom  stretched  away  darkened  with 
clumps  of  drab  sage-brush,  or  with  tall  wavy  lines 
which  they  knew  must  be  cactus.  Whiter  than 
the  sand,  far  out  in  the  valley,  a  tent  gleamed. 
Here  and  there  a  few  moving  specks  betokened 
range  cattle.  Framing  it  all  were  great  moun- 
tains, as  irregular  and  barren  as  floe  ice,  —  blue, 
purple,  and  brown,  with  streaks  of  yellow  where 
the  hot  rays  of  the  sun  struck  upon  bare  earth. 
All  the  detail  of  the  rocky  contour  showed  in  the 
clear  air.  The  mountains  at  the  end  of  the  valley, 
forty  miles  away,  seemed  as  distinct  as  if  within 
a  mile.  In  silence  the  riders  sat  their  horses, 
looking  straight  before  them. 

"I  never  knew  how  big  life  could  be  until  I 
saw  Arizona,"  exclaimed  Jean. 

"  I  never  knew  how  big  life  could  be  until  - 

"Until  what,  Mr.  Loring  ?  " 

Loring's  answer  was  to  guide  the  horses  into 
the  trail  that  led  down  to  the  Wash. 

In  a  short  while  they  reached  the  bottom,  and 
rode  out  into  the  valley,  where  wandering  "  mav- 
ericks," or  faggot-laden  burros  had  pounded 
innumerable  hard  paths. 

86 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Jean  shook  the  bridle  of  her  horse,  and  calling 
back  over  her  shoulder,  "Shall  we  run  them  ?" 
was  off  in  a  flash.  Stephen,  urging  on  his  pony, 
soon  caught  up  with  her,  and  side  by  side  they 
galloped  hard  up  the  valley.  Leaning  forward 
in  his  saddle,  he  could  watch  the  rich  color  rush 
across  the  girl's  face,  as  the  speed  set  her  blood 
dancing.  Her  head  was  tossed  backward, 
throwing  out  the  clean  molded  chin,  and  per- 
haps emphasizing  the  hint  of  obstinacy  con- 
cealed in  its  rounded  finish.  Her  bridle  hand 
lay  close  on  the  horse's  neck,  the  small 
gloved  fingers  crushing  the  reins.  From  the 
amount  of  attention  that  Loring  was,  or 
rather  was  not,  paying  to  his  horse,  he  richly 
deserved  a  fall;  but  the  fates  spared  him. 
Perhaps  they,  too,  were  engaged  in  watching 
the  girl. 

With  a  sigh,  Jean  pulled  her  horse  down  to  a 
walk. 

'That  was  splendid !  Why  can't  one  always 
be  riding  like  that  ?" 

Loring  looked  at  her,  amused  by  the  exuber- 
ance of  her  spirits. 

"A  bit  hard  on  the  horses  as  a  perpetual  thing, 
otherwise  perfect,"  he  answered. 


THE  UP  GRADE 

She  turned  to  him  suddenly.  "Have  you  no 
enthusiasms  ?" 

"I  used  to  have,"  answered  Stephen,  "but 
they  were  not  of  exactly  the  right  kind.  In  fact 
they  made  me  what  I  am." 

"  What  are  you  ?  "  she  asked,  looking  at  him 
directly. 

"A  failure  —  and  rather  worse,  because  I  am 
a  poor  failure.  There  is  just  enough  left  in  me 
to  make  me  realize  the  truth,  but  not  enough  to 
compel  me  to  do  anything  about  it." 

Jean  thought  for  a  minute,  then,  with  sincere 
pity  in  her  face,  she  asked,  "Why  ?" 

Stephen  had  resolved  never  to  speak  of  his 
past,  of  the  golden  opportunities  lost,  of  the 
friends  who  would  have  helped  if  they  could; 
but  as  he  looked  at  her,  at  the  slightly  parted 
lips,  at  the  frank  sympathy  that  shone  from  her 
face,  he  knew  that  here  was  some  one  who 
could  understand  and  perhaps  help. 

Slowly  at  first,  controlling  the  breaks  in  his 
voice,  then  more  evenly,  he  told  her  of  start  after 
start,  of  the  relatives  who  had  disowned  him,  of 
drifting  and  drifting.  "Now,  here  I  am,  running 
a  hoist !  Well,  it  is  probably  the  best  thing  of 
which  I  am  capable  and  I  owe  it  to  you  and 


THE  UP  GRADE 

your  father  that  I  have  so  good  a  place.  I  have 
been  tried  and  found  wanting  in  almost  every 
way  the  Lord  could  invent,  and,"  he  tried 
rather  unsuccessfully  to  smile,  "I  think  I  am 
down  and  out." 

Jean  reached  out  her  hand  to  him,  and  pressed 
his  warmly,  with  the  proud  confidence  of  not 
being  misunderstood. 

"Mr.  Loring,  I  do  not  believe  it.  You  may 
have  been  and  done  all  that  you  say,  but  you 
have  still  the  battle  ahead  of  you.  I  owe  my  life 
to  you.  You  risked  yours  to  save  me.  I  will 
not  let  you  go  on  throwing  yourself  away,  with- 
out trying  to  help  you.  I  thank  you  for  what 
you  have  told  me.  I  think  that  I  understand. 
It  is  hard  perhaps  for  a  girl  to  realize  the  truth ; 
but  I  do  so  want  to  help  you!  Here  in  Arizona 
you  have  a  fresh  chance.  Go  on  and  win  —  and 
never  forget  that  I  am  going  to  stand  by  you." 

Stephen  set  his  teeth  and  looked  straight  ahead 
of  him.  Every  nerve  within  him  tingled  with  the 
desire  to  bow  his  head  over  the  small  hand  that 
lay  on  his,  to  crave,  he  knew  not  what.  Then 
he  lifted  his  head  and  looked  at  her.  "I  will 
try  —  and  God  bless  you  !  " 

So  absorbed  had  the  man  and  girl  been  in 


THE  UP  GRADE 

their  talk,  that  they  had  failed  to  realize  that 
the  soft,  swift  night  of  Arizona  was  overtaking 
them.  Clouds  too  were  gathering  in  the  west 
and  obscuring  the  sunset  before  its  time.  Jean 
noticed  it  at  length  and  took  alarm 

"We  must  turn  and  ride  fast,"  she  said  hastily. 
"My  father  will  be  worried  if  we  are  late.  I 
think  I  remember  this  path  which  cuts  into  the 
trail  again  farther  on  and  is  a  shorter  way.  Let 
us  take  it!" 

Without  waiting  for  Loring's  assent,  she 
dashed  off  to  the  left.  Stephen  followed  her  with 
some  misgiving.  He  had  known  too  much  of 
the  devious  windings  of  these  half-beaten  paths 
and  would  have  chosen  the  longer  way  around  in 
confidence  of  its  proving  the  shorter  way  home. 

On  and  on  they  rode  in  the  gathering  dark- 
ness till  at  length  they  could  scarcely  see  a  yard 
ahead  of  them,  and  were  forced  to  drop  the  reins 
on  the  necks  of  the  ponies,  realizing  that  in  such 
a  situation  instinct  is  a  far  safer  guide  than 
reason.  Loring  took  the  lead,  and  rode  slowly 
and  cautiously,  peering  about  him  in  the  vain 
hope  of  discovering  the  right  way.  At  length 
his  pony  balked  suddenly  and  threw  back  its 
ears.  "Stop  !"  Stephen  called  back,  as  he  slip- 

90 


THE  UP  GRADE 

ped  hastily  from  the  saddle  and  took  a  step  for- 
ward to  investigate  the  cause  of  "Muy  Bueno 's" 
fright.  One  step  was  enough,  for  it  showed  him 
that  the  ground  dropped  off  into  space  at  his 
very  feet.  "Whew  !"  he  whistled  softly  to  him- 
self. Then  aloud  he  said :  "  I  am  afraid,  Miss 
Cameron,  that  you  must  dismount.  Wait  and 
let  me  help  you  ! "  But  before  he  could  reach 
her  the  girl  was  out  of  her  saddle  and  at  his  side. 
She  saw  their  danger  and  paled  at  its  nearness. 
Then  she  said  quietly:  "Of  course  it  is  my 
fault;  but  we  need  not  talk  about  that  now. 
The  question  is,  what  are  we  going  to  do?" 

"The  only  thing  we  can  do  is  to  grope  our 
way  back  by  the  way  we  have  come,  and  hope  by 
good  luck  to  reach  the  main  trail  again.  If  the 
moon  would  only  come  up,  we  might  at  least  get 
our  bearings,"  said  Loring. 

"We  ought  to  be  somewhere  near  the  Bing- 
ham  mine,"  Jean  reflected  aloud.  "Mr.  Bing- 
ham  is  a  friend  of  my  father's  and  we  have  ridden 
over  to  supper  in  his  camp  once  or  twice.  But 
I  don't  know  —  I  have  lost  all  faith  in  my  skill 
as  a  pilot." 

Loring  took  hold  of  the  bridles  and  turned 
the  ponies.  Then  mounting,  they  rode  into  the 

91 


THE  UP  GRADE 

darkness,  where  a  slight  thread  of  openness 
seemed  to  show  their  path.  Time  and  time  again 
the  horses,  sure-footed  as  they  were,  stumbled 
and  went  down  on  their  knees,  only  to  pick 
themselves  up  with  a  shake  and  a  plunge.  Wan- 
dering cattle  had  beaten  so  many  blind  paths 
through  the  chaparral  or  between  the  rocks  that 
the  riders  were  often  forced  to  stop  and  retrace 
their  way,  searching  for  new  openings.  Stephen 
was  afraid.  It  was  a  new  sensation  for  him  to 
have  any  dread  of  the  uncertain ;  but  every  time 
that  Miss  Cameron's  horse  slipped  or  hesitated 
he  turned  nervously  in  the  saddle  on  the  lookout 
for  some  accident  to  her.  His  was  a  nature  which 
danger  elated,  but  responsibility  depressed. 
Had  he  been  alone  he  would  have  rejoiced  in  the 
stubbornness  of  the  way,  in  the  rasp  of  the  cac- 
tus as  his  boots  scratched  against  it,  in  the  un- 
certain sliding  and  the  quick  checking  of  his 
horse ;  but  now  they  worried  him,  so  intent  was 
he  on  the  safety  of  the  girl  with  him.  He  knew 
that  only  good  fortune  could  find  their  way  for 
them  before  sunrise  and  he  prayed  for  good  for- 
tune in  a  way  that  made  up  for  his  past  unbelief 
in  such  a  thing. 

Jean's  cheerfulness  and  acceptance  of  condi- 
92 


THE  UP  GRADE 

tions  only  made  it  harder  for  him,  as,  with  every 
sense  alert,  he  led  the  way  towards  what  he 
hoped  was  their  goal. 

And  fear  was  not  the  only  emotion  that  struck 
at  his  heart.  Mingled  with  his  anxiety  was  a 
rushing  glow  of  happiness,  of  fierce  exultation 
such  as  he  had  never  experienced  in  his  life. 
The  fact  that  under  his  care,  alone  in  the  Ari- 
zona night,  was  the  girl  whom  he  loved,  thrilled 
and  shook  him.  The  soft  note  of  confidence  in 
her  voice,  her  unconscious  appeal  to  him  for 
protection,  made  the  stinging  blood  rush  to  his 
face,  made  him  crush  the  bridle  in  a  grip  as  of 
a  vise.  "Alone!"  he  murmured.  "Is  there  in 
God's  world  any  such  aloneness  as  two  together 
when  the  world  is  a  countless  distance  away, 
when  each  second  is  precious  as  a  lifetime ! " 
His  voice,  when  he  spoke  to  her,  sounded  to  him 
dry  and  forced.  It  was  only  by  superhuman 
control  that  when  he  guided  her  horse  to  the 
right  or  left  he  did  not  cry  out  his  need  of  her. 
Yet  through  all  the  electric  silence  he  knew  that 
he  had  no  right  to  speak  of  love,  no  right  even  to 
love  her.  His  mood  was  of  that  intensity  which 
cares  not  for  its  reaction  on  others.  Through  it 
all  he  did  not  think  or  imagine  that  she  could 

93 


THE  UP  GRADE 

care;  and  yet  he  was  happy,  happy  with  that 
joy  of  a  great  emotion  so  sweeping  as  not  to 
know  pain  from  pleasure  and  not  to  care.  For 
the  first  time  in  his  life  he  realized  what  it  was 
to  live,  not  to  think  or  to  care,  but  to  live. 

And  she  ?  She  could  not  have  been  a  woman 
and  not  have  known,  even  though  the  impris- 
oned words  had  not  escaped ;  but  from  knowing 
to  caring  is  a  very  long  road,  and  not  only  has  it 
many  turnings,  but  often  it  doubles  upon  itself. 

After  an  hour  of  this  blind  riding,  they  sud- 
denly found  themselves  following  a  well-beaten 
track.  A  tip  of  bright  gold  appeared  from  behind 
the  black  mountains,  then  a  crescent,  then  a 
semicircle,  and  almost  before  they  realized  it 
the  trail  was  flooded  with  the  splendor  of  the 
full-rounded  moon.  As  they  watched,  they  were 
startled  by  the  soft  thud  of  a  horse's  hoofs  be- 
hind them.  Stephen,  a  bit  uneasy  as  to  the  new- 
comer, wheeled  his  horse  sharply  to  meet  him, 
and  slipped  his  riding  gauntlet  from  his  right 
hand,  prepared  to  shoot  or  to  shake  as  the  occa- 
sion might  necessitate.  He  was  greatly  sur- 
prised, when  the  stranger  drew  abreast  of  them, 
to  hear  him  exclaim  in  a  cheerful  bass  voice: 
"Miss  Cameron!  How  did  you  come  here?" 

94 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"That  is  just  what  we  want  to  know.  The 
only  thing  we  want  to  know  more  is  how  to  get 
out  by  any  other  way  than  past  the  cliff  which 
we  almost  rode  over  in  the  darkness.  This  is 
Mr.  Loring,  Mr.  Bingham,  one  of  the  hoist  en- 
gineers at  Quentin.  Darkness  overtook  us 
while  we  were  riding,  and  I  thought  that  I  knew 
a  short  cut.  I  did  not,  it  seems,  and  here  we 
are." 

"Yes,  and  a  mighty  narrow  escape  you  had 
if  you  were  up  by  the  divide  yonder.  It  drops  off 
a  good  five  hundred  feet.  Cleverness  of  your 
horses,  I  suppose.  Positively  uncanny  the  in- 
stinct of  those  little  beasts !  Well,  as  it  hap- 
pens, you  have  been  riding  only  a  few  rods  from 
the  path  which  you  were  looking  for,  only  that 
winds  around  the  divide,  and  not  over  it.  I  am 
on  my  way  to  our  camp  just  below  here.  You  '11 
stop  to  supper  with  us,  of  course,"  he  added,  as 
the  lights  of  his  camp  suddenly  twinkled  from 
behind  a  spur  in  the  hills. 

"Not  to-night,  thank  you,"  Jean  answered. 
"I  am  afraid  that  my  father  will  be  worried  as 
it  is,  and  would  soon  be  scouring  the  mountains 
for  us." 

"  It  might  look  a  little  as  if  you  'd  run  off  to- 
95 


THE  UP  GRADE 

gether,"  Mr.  Bingham  chuckled  with  obtuse 
humor.  Suddenly  Jean,  who  had  been  all  grati- 
tude, felt  that  she  could,  with  great  pleasure, 
see  him  go  over  the  cliff  which  they  had  avoided. 
She  would  have  liked  to  reply  to  his  remark  with 
something  either  jocular  or  haughty ;  but  instead 
she  was  conscious  of  a  stiff,  shy  pause,  broken  by 
Loring's  query  as  to  how  the  ore  was  running 
in  the  Bingham  mine. 

"Decidedly  he  is  a  gentleman,"  reflected 
Jean,  and  then  the  scene  of  her  talk  with  her 
father  flashed  over  her,  —  the  porch,  the  living- 
room,  the  guitar,  the  song  "She  's  o'er  the  border 
and  awa'  wi'  Jock  o'  Hazeldean." 

Suddenly  she  laughed  aloud.  Both  men 
turned  in  their  saddles  to  see  what  could  have 
caused  her  sudden  mirth.  "Only  an  echo,"  Jean 
explained.  "It  sounded  like  a  girl's  voice.  It 
is  gone  now.  Don't  stop  !  " 

Mr.  Bingham  seemed  so  grieved  to  have  them 
pass  the  camp  without  dismounting  that  Jean, 
realizing  that  a  neglect  of  his  proffered  hos- 
pitality would  wound  him  unnecessarily,  con- 
sented to  take  a  cup  of  coffee.  Mrs.  Bingham 
brought  it  to  them  with  her  own  hands,  talk- 
ing to  them  eagerly  as  they  drank  it.  Mr. 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Bingham  drew  out  his  flask  and  offered  it  to 
Stephen ;  but  with  a  glance  at  Jean,  he  de- 
clined it  and  the  girl  noted  the  sacrifice  with 
satisfaction. 

The  coffee  finished,  Jean  and  Loring  bade  a 
hasty  farewell  to  their  hosts,  who  grieved  over 
their  parting  with  that  true  Western  hospitality 
born  of  the  desolate  hills,  the  long  reaches  of 
sparsely  populated  country,  and  the  loneliness 
of  camp  life. 

The  horses  were  tired ;  but  their  riders  had  no 
notion  of  sparing  them,  and  rode  as  fast  as  the 
roughness  of  the  trail  permitted.  Mr.  Bing- 
ham's  ill-timed  words  had  jarred  upon  their 
companionship,  and  the  horses'  hoofs  alone 
broke  the  silence  which  had  fallen  between 
them. 

It  was  eleven  o'clock  when  they  reached 
Quentin,  and  Mr.  Cameron  was  pacing  the 
porch  impatiently,  peering  out  into  the  black- 
ness where  the  moonlight  pierced  it,  as  they 
rode  up  to  the  shack. 

"We  are  all  safe,  father;  we  merely  took  a 
wrong  turning,"  Jean  called  aloud  as  they  drew 
rein. 

"Yes,"  observed  Mr.  Cameron  with  a  stub- 
7  97 


THE  UP  GRADE 

born  ring  in  his  voice.  "I  was  afraid  that  you 
had." 

Jean  perceived  her  father's  frame  of  mind  in- 
stantly, and  the  Cameron  in  her  rose  to  meet 
the  Cameron  in  him. 

"We  have  spent  a  very  agreeable  afternoon, 
however,"  she  said  in  clear,  determined  tones; 
"at  least  I  have,  so  I  can  scarcely  regret  our 
adventure,  though  I  am  sorry  to  have  caused 
you  anxiety." 

To  Loring's  surprise,  instead  of  slipping  out 
of  her  saddle  as  she  had  done  before,  she  waited 
for  him  to  lift  her  down.  As  he  did  so,  she  felt 
his  lips  brush  her  sleeve.  It  was  done  after  the 
fashion  of  a  devotee,  not  of  a  lover,  yet  the 
girl's  pulses  bounded  with  a  sense  of  elation  and 
power.  She  held  a  man's  soul  in  her  hands. 
Yes,  she  knew  now  with  a  sense  of  certainty 
what  she  had  only  suspected  before,  —  that 
Loring  loved  her.  How  she  felt  herself,  how 
much  response  the  man's  passion  had  power  to 
call  out  in  her,  she  took  no  time  to  think;  but 
she  resolved  to  use  this  new  power  for  his  good. 
It  should  be  the  beginning  of  better  things  than 
he  had  ever  known.  Oh,  yes,  love  could  do 
anything.  She  had  always  heard  that. 


THE  UP  GRADE 

That  night  Loring,  too,  would  have  sworn 
that  the  turning  point  in  his  life  had  come,  that 
never  again  could  he  prove  unworthy  of  the 
trust  in  him  which  had  shone  from  Jean  Cam- 
eron's eyes  and  pulsed  in  the  strong  clasp  of  her 
hand.  A  woman's  faith  had  saved  other  men 
worse  than  he.  Why  could  he  not  surely  rely 
upon  its  power  to  save  him,  too  ? 

One  who  knew  him  well  might  have  answered  : 
"  Because  you  are  both  too  strong  and  too  weak 
to  be  saved  by  anything  from  without.  Your 
regeneration,  if  it  comes,  will  come  from  no 
such  gentle  approaches  and  soft  appeals,  but 
through  the  stress  and  storm  of  deep  experience, 
through  the  struggle  and  agony  of  overwhelming 
remorse.  So  it  must  be  with  some  men." 


99 


CHAPTER  VI 

FROM  the  time  of  their  ride  together, 
Jean's  thoughts  were  much  more  occu- 
pied with  Loring  than  they  had  been 
before.  The  consciousness  of  her  father's  op- 
position was  an  added  stimulus,  partly  by  reason 
of  her  inherited  obstinacy,  and  partly  because 
she  felt  that  Loring  was  misunderstood,  and  all 
her  loyalty  was  engaged  in  his  behalf.  She  felt 
a  pride  in  having  discovered  what  she  thought 
were  his  possibilities,  and  she  was  determined 
that  the  world  should  acknowledge  them  too. 
In  the  face  of  Mr.  Cameron's  disapproval  she 
did  not  venture  to  ask  Loring  to  the  house;  but 
whenever  they  met  in  the  camp  or  on  the  road 
she  made  a  point  of  stopping  to  talk  with  him 
and  inquiring  how  things  were,  going  at  the 
hoist. 

It  must  be  set  down  to  Loring's  credit  that 

none  of  these  meetings  were  of  his  planning,  for 

as  his  love  for  her  deepened,  as  it  did  day  by 

day,  he  felt  more  and  more  keenly  the  barriers 

100 


THE  UP  GRADE 

which  he  himself  had  raised  between  them.  He 
felt  how  far  wrong  he  had  been  in  assuming  that 
his  life  had  been  wholly  his  own  and  that  his 
failures  could  touch  no  one  but  himself.  He  did 
not  dare  to  construct  the  future,  but  clung  to  the 
present  with  realization  of  its  blessings.  He 
felt  a  glow  of  pride  in  Jean's  friendship  for  him, 
and  a  steady  reliance  on  her  faith  in  him.  Week 
after  week  went  by  and  the  fiber  within  him 
strengthened.  The  belief  in  the  worthwhileness 

o 

of  life  came  to  him  with  a  splendid  rush  of  con- 
viction that  was  not  to  be  denied. 

The  depth  of  happiness  is,  unfortunately, 
however,  no  criterion  of  its  duration.  One 
evening  the  stage,  after  depositing  at  the  office 
its  load  of  mail  and  newcomer's,  lurched  jerkily 
up  the  incline  that  lejj  to  Mr.  Cameron's  "house, 
instead  of  being  driven  to  'the  corral  as  usual. 
Loring  watched  it  and  his  spirits  dropped  like  a 
barometer.  An  incident  may  easily  depress  high 
spirits,  though  it  takes  an  event  to  raise  low 
ones.  The  event  which  had  raised  his  spirits 
to-day  was  a  meeting  with  Jean  Cameron  while 
Mr.  Cameron  was  inspecting  Number  Three 
shaft.  Jean  had  accompanied  her  father  to  the 
hoist  and  \Loring  had  been  able  to  talk  with  her 
101 


THE  UP  GRADE 

for  a  longer  time  than  usual.  The  incident  that 
had  depressed  was  merely  a  slight  break  in  the 
routine.  He  did  not  usually  notice  the  stage. 
Why  should  he  do  so  now  ?  What  was  more 
natural  than  that  Mr.  Cameron  should  have 
some  visitor  ? 

"Probably  one  of  the  directors  of  the  company, 
or  some  official,"  Stephen  reflected.  "Perhaps 
that  was  why  that  new  saddle  was  sent  down  to 
the  corral." 

Loring  shortened  his  day  by  dividing  it  into 
periods.  A  period  consisted  of  the  time  required 
to  raise  ten  buckets  of  ore.  At  the  end  of  each 
period  he  permitted  himself  to  glance  over. his 
shoulder,  where  just  beyond  the  corner  of  the 
ore  cribs  he  could  see  the  porch  of  Mr.  Cameron's 
house.  Now  and  then  he  was  rewarded  by  a 
glimpse  of  Jean  reading  or  talking  to  her  father. 
Loring  was  very  honest  with  himself  and  never 
before  the  requisite  amount  of  work  was  ac- 
complished did  he  give  himself  his  reward.  This 
morning  he  had  gone  through  the  usual  routine, 
lowered  the  day's  shift  and  patiently  waited  to 
hoist  the  first  result  of  their  labor.  It  had  been 
a  severe  strain  on  his  subjective  integrity,  when, 
after  he  had  raised  nine  buckets  of  ore,  the  ex- 

102 


THE  UP  GRADE 

pected  tenth  turned  out  to  be  merely  a  load  of 
dulled  drills  sent  up  to  be  sharpened.  Exas- 
perated, he  watched  while  the  "nipper"  boys 
unloaded  the  drills  and  put  in  the  newly  sharp- 
ened sets  which  they  had  brought  from  the 
blacksmith's.  One  little  fellow  either  unduly 
conscientious,  or  with  a  wholesome  dread  of  the 
wrath  of  the  mine  foreman,  laboriously  counted 
the  new  drills  from  the  short  "starters"  to  the 
six-  and  seven-foot  drills  that  complete  the  set. 

"  Oh,    they  're    all    right,    Ignacio,"    called 
Stephen.     "  Chuck  them  in  !     'Sta  'ueno." 

The  next  time  his  hopes  were  fulfilled,  and 
bucket  number  ten  appeared  on  the  surface. 
As  soon  as  it  was  clear  of  the  shaft  and  swung 
onto  the  waiting  ore  car,  Stephen  turned  for 
his  long-desired  glance.  Tied  to  the  fence  in 
front  of  Mr.  Cameron's  house  was  another 
horse  beside  Jean's  pony,  which  he  knew  so" 
well.  As  he  looked,  the  door  opened  and  Jean 
appeared.  She  was  too  far  away  for  him  to 
distinguish  her  features  and  yet  she  seemed  to 
him  to  have  an  air  of  buoyancy  which  he  had 
not  before  remarked.  A  man  stepped  out  of 
the  doorway  behind  her.  His  tan  riding-boots 
were  brilliant  with  a  gloss  that  is  unknown  in 
103 


THE  UP  GRADE 

a  world  where  men  shine  their  own  shoes.  The 
sunlight  positively  quivered  upon  them.  Jean 
and  the  stranger  mounted,  and  as  they  rode 
nearer  to  the  hoist  Stephen  observed  that  the 
man  was  singularly  good-looking,  but  "too 
sleek  by  half,"  he  growled  vindictively,  as  he 
turned  to  his  work  again. 

The  stranger  turned  out  to  be  a  young  cousin 
of  Mr.  Cameron's,  ostensibly  in  camp  to  see 
"western  life";  but  Stephen  had  his  own 
opinion  as  to  that.  In  a  week  Loring  disliked 
the  cousin,  in  a  fortnight  he  loathed  him,  and 
all  without  ever  having  exchanged  a  word  with 
the  dapper  youth.  A  man  who  by  necessity 
is  compelled  to  wear  a  flannel  shirt  and  trousers 
frayed  by  tucking  within  high  boots,  is  always 
prone  to  consider  a  better  dressed  man  as  dapper. 
For  a  week  Stephen  had  not  had  a  chance  to 
speak  with  Miss  Cameron.  The  cousin,  "Archi- 
bald Iverach,"  as  the  letters  which  Loring  saw 
at  the  post-office  indicated  to  be  his  name,  may 
not  have  been  intentionally  responsible;  but 
to  his  shadow-like  attendance  on  Jean,  Loring 
attributed  the  result  and  accordingly  prayed 
for  his  departure.  "To  be  sure  he  is  her  guest; 
but  that  is  no  reason  why  he  should  have  too 
104 


THE  UP  GRADE 

good  a  time,"  he  reflected  gloomily.  "She 
must  be  enjoying  his  visit  or  she  would  not 
keep  him  so  long." 

Had  Loring  overheard  a  conversation  which 
took  place  at  Mr.  Cameron's  table  the  day 
before  Iverach's  return  to  the  East,  he  would 
have  felt  his  affection  for  that  gentleman  still 
more  increased.  The  conversation  had  turned 
upon  the  types  of  men  in  camp.  Iverach's 
estimate  of  them  had  been  as  disparaging  as 
theirs  of  him.  The  only  men  with  whom  he  had 
come  in  contact  had  annoyed  him  as  having  no 
place  in  his  neatly  constructed  world.  "Cheap 
independence"  was  the  phrase  that  he  had 
used  to  describe  their  manner.  He  had  good 
cause  to  know  this  independence  for  one  day 
he  had  addressed  McKay  in  a  rather  lofty 
fashion,  and  what  McKay  had  said  in  return 
could  only  be  constructed  from  a  careful  and 
diligent  reading  of  the  unexpurgated  parts  of 
all  the  most  lurid  books  in  the  world  combined. 
The  retort  had  been  worthy  of  a  territory  where 
the  championship  swearing  belt  is  held  by  one 
who  can  swear  between  syllables.  His  remarks 
had  reflected  on  Iverach's  parentage  on  the  male 
and  female  sides,  it  had  enlarged  on  his  past, 
105 


THE  UP  GRADE 

expatiated  on  his  probable  future,  dilated  upon 
his  present.  The  pleasantest  of  the  places  that 
awaited  him,  according  to  McKay,  was  hotter 
than  Tombstone  in  August.  His  looks  and 
character  had  been  described  in  a  way  that  had 
surpassed  even  McKay's  fertile  imagination. 
Iverach  had  always  imagined  that  he  would 
fight  a  man  for  using  such  language  to  him; 
yet  for  some  reason  he  had  not  hastened  to  ex- 
press offense.  He  was  not  a  coward ;  but  he  was 
not  adventurous  nor  easily  aroused  to  anger 
when  it  might  have  unpleasant  results.  Con- 
sequently to-day,  when  he  finished  his  remarks 
about  the  men  whom  he  had  seen  by  observing 
that  they  were  "the  scum  of  the  earth,"  he 
was  guilty  of  no  conscious  exaggeration. 

Mr.  Cameron  paid  no  attention  to  his  cousin's 
remarks.  He  had  rarely  found  them  rewarding 
and  therefore  with  his  usual  Scotch  economy 
he  declined  to  waste  interest  upon  them.  Jean, 
however,  for  some  reason  took  the  trouble  to 
continue  the  discussion. 

"Have  you  met  a  man  named  Loring,  one 
of  the  hoist  engineers  ? "  she  asked  quietly. 

Iverach  looked  up  suddenly.  "  Loring  ?  What 
is  his  first  name  ?" 

1 06 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Stephen." 

"I  have  not  met  him  here;  but  if  he  is  the 
man  I  think  he  is,  I  happen  to  have  heard  some- 
thing of  him  in  the  East.  A  friend  of  his  asked 
me  to  keep  an  eye  out  for  him  if  I  came  to  any 
of  the  camps  in  Arizona.  In  fact,  he  told  me  to 
keep  two  eyes  open  for  him,  one  to  find  him  with, 
and  the  other  to  look  out  for  him  after  I  had 
found  him.  He  intimated  that  Loring  was  not 
a  reliable  character,  to  say  the  least." 

"A  friend  of  his,  did  you  say  ?" 

"I  judged  that  he  had  been  at  one  time,  but 
from  the  trend  of  his  conversation  his  friend- 
ship must  have  been  a  thing  of  the  dim  past. 
Among  other  pleasant  things  about  Loring  he 
told  me  that — " 

"Did  he  say  anything  about  his  ability  as  a 
hoist  engineer  ?  That,  I  think,  is  the  only 
thing  with  whicn  we  are  concerned  here,"  in- 
terrupted Jean.  "You  know,  Archie,  there  is 
a  proverb  to  the  effect  that  'a  man's  past  is  his 
own.'" 

"Then  all  I  can  say  is  that  Loring  is  not  to 

be   envied   his   ownership,"   Iverach   went  on, 

ignoring  the  danger  signal  of  Jean's   slightly 

contemptuous  manner.    "And  as  for  discussing 

107 


THE  UP  GRADE 

his  past,  I  cannot  see  any  harm  in  repeating 
what  every  one  knows  about  a  man." 

Ordinarily  Mr.  Cameron  was  the  most  fair- 
minded  of  men,  and  judged  people  by  what  he 
knew  of  them,  not  by  what  he  heard;  but  he 
had  a  particular  antipathy  to  Loring,  caused 
by  dislike  of  his  type,  and  also  he  was  not  sorry 
to  have  Jean  hear  a  few  truths  about  the  man 
whose  companionship  he  dreaded  for  her  as 
much  as  he  resented  her  championship  of  him. 

"What  was  it  you  were  going  to  say  about 
Loring?"  he  asked  of  Iverach,  as  he  handed 
him  a  cigar. 

Iverach  paused  to  clip  it  carefully  with  a 
gold  cigar-cutter  that  hung  from  his  watch- 
chain.  "Of  course  it  is  only  hearsay  that  I  am 
repeating  —  "  Archibald  began  hesitatingly. 

"Then  why  repeat  it  ?"  asked  Jean  ironically. 

"Oh,  the  most  interesting  things  in  the  world 
are  those  that  you  accept  on  hearsay,"  he 
laughed.  "I  forget  the  details  of  Loring's 
history,  but  this  friend  intimated  that  Loring, 
when  engaged  to  his  guardian's  daughter,  bor- 
rowed large  sums  of  money  from  the  guardian, 
and  —  well,  neither  the  engagement  nor  the 
money  ever  materialized  and  Stephen  Loring 


THE  UP  GRADE 

is  not  much  sought  after  in  that  neighborhood. 
I  met  the  girl  once,"  he  went  on,  "and  I  don't 
blame  Loring.  She  was  the  kind  of  young 
woman  whose  eyes  light  up  only  over  causes ; 
but  the  money  part  of  the  story,  if  true,  is  rather 
an  ugly  fact.  Dexterity  with  other  people's 
money  is  not  an  agreeable  form  of  deftness." 

"Utterly  contemptible,"  snapped  Mr.  Cam- 
eron, flicking  the  ashes  from  his  cigar  onto  the 
table  with  a  prodigal  gesture,  only  to  brush 
them  onto  an  envelope  with  the  afterthought 
of  an  exact  nature. 

Jean  rose  and  walked  toward  the  door. 

"At  what  time  do  you  ride  this  afternoon?" 
her  cousin  called  after  her. 

"Thanks,"  replied  Jean,  without  turning, 
"but  I  shall  not  be  able  to  ride  this  afternoon, 
I  am  intending  to  spend  the  time  in  making  a 
pair  of  curtains  for  this  window.  I  do  not  like 
the  view  of  the  hoist." 

Iverach's  face  fell,  for  he  was  leaving  Quentin 
the  next  day,  and  he  had  counted  much  upon 
this  last  interview.  "Can't  the  curtains  wait 
until  to-morrow?"  he  remonstrated. 

"No,  they  must  be  finished  at  once,"  replied 
Jean  with  decision. 

109 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Why  this  burst  of  domestic  energy?" 
queried  Mr.  Cameron.  "You  know  that  you 
have  not  taken  a  needle  in  your  hand  since  you 
have  been  in  the  camp." 

"  I  intend  to  change  my  habits  in  many  ways," 
Jean  responded,  pressing  her  lips  together 
firmly. 

"I  beg  of  you  not  to  change  at  all,"  said 
Iverach.  "It  is  impossible  to  improve  a  per- 
fect person.  However,  since  you  are  in  the 
domestic  mood,  I  wonder  if  you  would  take 
pity  on  a  helpless  bachelor  and  take  a  stitch  in 
my  riding-gloves  for  me  ? " 

"Riding-gloves  are  a  luxury,  while  curtains 
are  a  necessity,"  replied  Jean  firmly.  "How- 
ever, if  you  will  give  the  gloves  to  me,  I  will  see 
that  our  Chinaman  mends  them.  There  is 
nothing  that  he  cannot  do." 

For  some  minutes  after  Jean  had  left  the 
room,  her  cousin  contemplated  the  end  of  his 
cigar.  It  was  hard  for  him  to  twist  her  expres- 
sions into  denoting  a  mood  favorable  to  his 
complacency,  so  he  spent  an  unpleasant  half 
hour.  At  last,  giving  up  all  hope  of  her  reappear- 
ance, he  moodily  set  forth  alone  on  his  ride. 
He  realized  that  in  the  Western  setting  he  did 
no 


THE  UP  GRADE 

not  appeal  to  Jean  Cameron,  and  only  hoped 
that  when  she  should  return  to  the  East,  his 
deficiencies  would  be  less  apparent,  while  his 
advantages  would  show  more  clearly.  He 
therefore  concluded  to  defer  putting  his  fate 
to  the  touch  until  circumstances  should  prove 
more  propitious. 

The  curtains  took  some  time  in  the  making. 
Jean  sewed  them  with  a  preoccupied  elaboration 
such  as  she  was  not  accustomed  to  bestow  upon 
such  tasks.  She  had  been  startled  by  the  effect 
of  her  cousin's  words  upon  her,  and  now  stared 
at  the  hem  of  the  curtains  with  a  slight  frown. 
She  had  thought  her  interest  in  Stephen  to  be 
purely  abstract  and  impersonal,  and  yet  it  was 
not  pleasant  to  think  of  the  person  in  whom 
she  was  even  abstractly  interested  as  having 
been  concerned  in  a  dubious  financial  transac- 
tion. It  certainly  added  interest  to  the  problem 
of  his  regeneration ;  but  nevertheless  it  abated 
the  zeal  for  solving  that  problem,  by  making  it 
seem  not  worth  while. 

Stephen  rejoiced  when  the  day  came  for 
Iverach  to  leave  Quentin.  He  hoped  that  now 
his  relations  with  Miss  Cameron  would  be  re- 
sumed. He  was  amazed  to  see  how  much  he 
in 


THE  UP  GRADE 

had  come  to  rely  on  his  glimpses  of  her  as  the 
inspiration  of  his  existence.  The  first  time 
that  he  saw  her,  however,  she  passed  him  with 
a  cool  nod  in  which  it  would  have  been  hard 
for  any  one  to  find  encouragement  or  inspira- 
tion. When  this  coolness  was  repeated  on 
several  occasions  he  was  puzzled.  Then  he 
made  up  his  mind  that  the  underlying  reason 
was  the  cousin,  and  in  this  he  was  certainly 
correct,  though  not  in  the  way  he  supposed. 
For  the  first  time  he  began  to  realize  that  the 
work  at  the  hoist  was  monotonous. 

The  Devil  has  three  great  allies,  natural  de- 
pravity, aimless  activity,  and  ennui,  and  this  last 
is  his  most  trusted,  subtle,  and  reliable  agent, 
especially  when  coupled  with  depression. 


112 


CHAPTER  VII 

FOR  three  days  it  had  been  raining  in 
camp,  and  the  roads  were  mired  with 
brownish  red  'dobe  mud.  In  the  tents 
the  little  stoves  failed  to  dry  the  reeking  air. 
The  ponies  looked  miserable,  human  beings 
hopeless.  Men  tracked  into  the  office,  wet  and 
disgusted,  their  dirty  "slickers"  dripping  little 
pools  of  water  wherever  they  stood.  The  rain 
fell  with  a  dull  rattle  on  the  galvanized  iron 
roofing,  steady,  relentless.  Fven  the  "shots" 
from  the  workings  sounded  dull  and  dejected 
in  the  heavy  atmosphere.  Every  one  was  irri- 
table and  in  an  unpleasant  frame  of  mind. 

Rain  in  Arizona  is  rare;  but  when  it  does 
come  it  is  the  coldest,  wettest,  slimiest  rain  in 
the  world.  It  rains  from  above,  from  below, 
from  the  side.  It  dissolves  rubber;  it  takes 
the  heat  from  fire.  Water-tight  buildings  are 
mere  sport  for  it.  It  rains  in  big  drops  that 
splash,  in  fine  drizzle  that  penetrates,  in  sheets 


THE  UP  GRADE 

that  drench.  The  soft  rock  melts  and  becomes 
mud.  The  dirt  dissolves  and  becomes  quick- 
sand. Empty  gulches  become  torrents;  small 
streams  become  rivers.  Even  the  "Gila  mon- 
sters," those  slimy,  mottled,  bottle-eyed,  lizard- 
shaped  reptiles,  give  up  in  despair,  while  mere 
man  has  no  chance  at  all  for  happiness  and 
comfort. 

Stephen  came  back  from  his  work  at  the 
hoist,  soaked  to  the  skin,  and  sick.  To  add  to 
his  discouragement  he  found  orders  to  work 
a  double  shift  waiting  for  him  in  his  tent  — 
the  engineer  of  the  eleven  o'clock,  or  "grave- 
yard," shift  being  incapacitated.  He  threw 
himself  down  on  his  cot,  cursing  the  squeak  of 
the  rusty  springs.  His  feet  felt  like  moist  lumps 
of  clay.  The  dampness  of  his  shirt  sent  a  numb 
feeling  through  his  stomach.  Lynn,  his  tent- 
mate,  was  on  shift,  so  there  was  nothing  to  do 
but  stare  at  the  one  ornament  of  the  tent,  a 
battered  tin  alarm  clock,  which,  ticking  with 
exasperating  monotony,  hung  from  the  ridge- 
pole of  the  tent.  The  sole  reading  matter  at 
hand  was  an  old  copy  of  the  Denver  Post. 
Stephen  knew  this  almost  by  heart;  but  he 
picked  it  up  and  began  to  reread  it. 
114 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"  Be  a  Booster !  Get  the  convention  for  your 
city !  Don't  go  to  sleep  ! " 

The  words,  in  flaming  red  and  black  head- 
lines, irritated  him.  Throwing  the  paper  aside, 
he  amused  himself  by  drawing  his  fingernail 
along  the  wet  canvas  of  the  tent,  and  watching 
the  water  ooze  through  the  weave.  Occasionally 
from  outside  he  could  hear  the  cursing  of  the 
coke  wagon  drivers,  and  the  merciless  crack  of 
their  whips.  In  his  mind  he  could  see  almost 
as  well  as  if  he  had  been  outside,  the  six  quiver- 
ing, straining  horses,  their  haunches  worn  raw 
by  the  traces,  the  creaking  wagon,  up  to  its 
hubs  in  mud,  and  the  slipping  of  the  rusty  brake 
shoes. 

As  he  lay  there  in  quiet  misery,  with  renewed 
strength  the  utter  hopelessness  of  his  life  came 
to  him.  It  was  not  so  much  the  thought  of  the 
present  that  crushed,  but  the  knowledge  that 
for  years  a  life  like  this  was  all  that  lay  before 
him.  The  ride  of  three  odd  months  ago  with 
Jean  Cameron  had  awakened  him  to  visions 
of  things  that  lay  beyond  him. 

He  shivered  with  cold,  and  pulled  the  dirty 
red  blanket  up  over  him.  Uncalled  for,  the 
thought  of  the  saloon  up  on  the  hill  came  into 

"5 


THE  UP  GRADE 

his  mind.  He  imagined  himself  leaning  against 
a  bar,  the  edge  fitting  comfortably  into  his  side, 
drinking  warm  drinks,  and  feeling  that  life  was 
worth  while.  He  tried  to  drive  the  thought 
away.  It  was  useless. 

Jean  Cameron  for  months  now  had  been  his 
idol,  had  seemed  to  him  to  represent  his  better 
self.  With  an  effort  he  brought  her  face  before 
him.  The  vision  was  all  blurred.  Her  eyes 
seemed  to  look  away  from  him.  She  seemed 
intangible,  unreal,  compared  with  the  comfort 
which  he  knew  that  drink  would  bring. 

"What  is  the  use,  anyhow?"  he  murmured 
to  himself. 

He  turned  irresolutely  upon  his  cot,  then  he 
jumped  up  and  out  onto  the  floor. 

"Oh,  damn  it,  I  will!"  he  exclaimed. 

He  jammed  his  hat  down  over  his  eyes, 
struggled  into  his  drenched  "slicker,"  and 
started  out  into  the  muddy  road.  As  he  waded 
down  to  the  corral,  his  boots  squashed  in  sodden 
resentment. 

Loring  for  a  moment  wavered  irresolute 
while  he  was  saddling  his  pony. 

"I  won't,"  he  muttered. 

But  even  as  he  said  it,  he  gave  the  last 
116 


THE  UP  GRADE 

turn  to  the  cinch  knot,  and  swung  into  the 
saddle. 

Moodily  he  rode  up  the  trail.  It  rained 
harder  than  ever.  The  pony  slipped,  slid,  and 
scrambled.  Stephen  sat  in  the  saddle,  stiff  as 
an  image.  His  face  was  drawn  with  lines  that 
were  not  pleasant  to  look  upon.  The  corners 
of  his  mouth  were  drawn  hard  down,  telling  of 
tightly  clenched  teeth. 

When  he  reached  the  saloon  he  dismounted, 
hastily  tied  his  horse  to  a  bush,  and  went  in. 
In  one  corner  of  the  shack  a  stove  was  burning 
warmly.  The  pine  boards  of  the  flooring  were 
smooth  and  white. 

The  bar,  which  was  made  of  packing  boxes 
covered  with  oiled  cloth,  ran  the  whole  length  of 
the  room  on  the  right-hand  side  from  the  door. 
At  the  left-hand  side  were  a  couple  of  small 
green  baize-covered  tables.  By  these  were 
seated  several  Mexicans,  all  more  or  less  drunk. 
They  were  singing  noisily.  Along  the  wall 
behind  the  bar  ran  a  shelf  which  supported 
a  large  array  of  bottles.  Behind  these,  in 
imitation  of  the  cheap  gaudiness  of  a  city 
saloon,  was  a  long,  cracked  mirror.  Two  Colt 
revolvers  lying  grimly  on  the  shelf  gave  a  deli- 


THE  UP  GRADE 

cate  hint  to  guests  to  behave  themselves,  and 
to  pay  their  bills. 

The  Mexicans  looked  in  a  stupid,  vacant 
way  at  Loring,  then  went  on  with  their  singing. 
The  barkeeper  was  leaning  against  the  wall, 
biting  the  end  from  a  cigar,  and  at  the  same 
time  whistling.  This  accomplishment  was 
made  possible  by  the  fact  that  two  front  teeth 
were  missing.  It  was  rumored  that  in  addition 
to  smoking  and  whistling,  he  could  curse  and 
expectorate,  all  at  the  same  time. 

The  possessor  of  these  remarkable  accom- 
plishments greeted  Stephen  in  a  friendly  fashion. 
They  had  often  before  met  in  the  camp,  when 
Hankins  came  down  from  the  saloon  for 
supplies. 

"Well,  now,  Mr.  Loring,  I'm  glad  to  see 
you.  Mean  weather  out,  ain't  it  ?  First  time 
you  've  been  up  to  our  diggings,  I  guess,"  he 
said,  while  he  gripped  Stephen's  hand  with  a 
crushing  grasp. 

"Yes,  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  had  a  chance 
to  drop  in,"  rejoined  Loring. 

Some  one  rode  up  to  the  door,  and  with 
heavy  tread,  and  jangling  of  spurs,  came  stamp- 
ing into  the  saloon. 

118 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"How  are  you  stacking  up,  Jackie?"  asked 
Hankins  of  the  newcomer.  "Say,  Mr.  Loring, 
I  want  you  to  know  my  partner;  Mr.  Jackson, 
shake  hands  with  Mr.  Loring."  The  introduc- 
tion accomplished,  he  stepped  back  behind  the 
bar. 

"What  are  you  goin'  to  have  to  drink,  gents  ? 
This  one  is  on  the  house." 

"Thanks!  Whisky  for  me,  please,"  an- 
swered Loring. 

"Whisky  ?  All  right.  I  have  some  pretty  good 
stuff  here.  No  more  kick  to  it  than  from  a  little 
lamb.  Have  some  too,  Jackie  ?  I  thought  so." 

Hankins  poured  the  golden  fluid  into  three 
gray-looking  glasses. 

"Regards,  gents!"  he  said  in  a  businesslike 
tone  of  voice,  raising  his  glass  as  he  spoke. 

"Regards,"  echoed  Loring,  emptying  his 
glass  at  a  gulp. 

The  whisky  sent  a  warm  glow  through  his 
frame. 

"That  was  good,"  he  said,  in  a  judicial  tone 
of  voice.  "Now  won't  you  gentlemen  take 
something  with  me?" 

"Well,  I  don't  care  if  I  do,"  answered  Han- 
kins. 


THE  UP  GRADE 

The  same  formula,  "  Regards,"  was  repeated. 

Loring  leaned  in  comfort  against  the  bar.  The 
attitude,  unfortunately,  was  not  strange  to  him. 
Time  and  time  again,  on  Stephen's  invitation, 
the  glasses  were  refilled,  while  every  now  and 
then  Hankins  insisted,  "One  on  the  house." 
After  the  first  two  drinks,  however,  the  latter 
and  his  partner  drank  only  beer,  while  Loring 
continued  to  drink  straight  whisky.  The  other 
men  had  one  by  one  departed,  so  that  Loring 
and  his  companions  were  left  alone. 

Stephen's  face  began  to  burn.  He  caught  a 
glimpse  of  himself  in  the  mirror  that  hung  be- 
hind the  bar.  Somehow  the  dull-eyed,  white 
face  which  looked  back  at  him  seemed  to  have 
no  connection  with  the  radiant  creature  that  he 
felt  himself  to  be. 

At  this  juncture  Jackson  made  a  suggestion. 

"What  do  you  say  to  a  little  game,  gents  ?" 

"  By  —  all  —  means,"  exclaimed  Loring,  em- 
phasizing each  word  as  if  it  were  the  last  of  the 
sentence. 

Hankins,  stooping  behind  the  bar,  brought 
up  a  pack  of  cards. 

"Here's  an  unopened  deck,"  he  said.  With 
a  queer  little  side  look  at  his  partner,  he  went 
120 


THE  UP  GRADE 

on.  "I  '11  get  even  with  you  for  our  last  game, 
Jackie." 

Stephen,  with  footsteps  that  came  down  very 
hard,  walked  over  to  one  of  the  tables.  Then  he 
stopped. 

"I  --  have  n't  —  got  —  much  —  money  — 
here,"  he  said.  He  enunciated  with  the  heavy, 
precise  diction  of  a  man  who  knows,  but  will 
not  believe  that  he  is  drunk. 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Jackson.  "Your 
I.  O.  U.  goes  with  us.  We  ain't  like  a  boardin'- 
house  keeper  I  used  to  know  in  Los  Angeles, 
who  had  a  sign  hung  out  over  his  place:  'We 
only  trust  God.' ' 

Stephen  and  Jackson  sat  down  at  the  table, 
and  the  latter  began  to  shuffle  the  cards  vigor- 
ously. 

"Another  whisky,  please,"  called  Stephen  to 
Hankins.  He  spoke  as  if  a  "whisky  please" 
were  a  special  sort  of  drink. 

"A  beer  for  me  too,"  called  Jackson.  Han- 
kins  brought  the  drinks  on  a  little  tin  tray.  Be- 
fore taking  each  glass  from  it,  he  mechanically 
clicked  the  bottom  against  the  edge  of  the 
tray. 

Stephen  fumbled  in  his  pocket  for  change. 

121 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"  Don't  pay  now,"  drawled  Jackson.  "  Drinks 
is  on  the  game.  Winner  shells  up  for  the 
pleasure  he  has  had." 

Hankins  joined  them  at  the  table,  remarking 
as  he  sat  down:  "What's  the  chips  wuth?" 
He  nodded  assent  to  Stephen's  rather  indistinct 
answer. 

"  Freeze-out  ?  Play  till  some  one  goes  broke  ? 
Let  her  drive,  Jackie!" 

Jackson  dealt  with  rapid  precision,  empha- 
sizing each  round  by  banging  his  own  card 
down  hard  on  the  table.  All  looked  at  their 
hands,  while  the  dealer  drawled  softly :  "  Kyards, 
gents  ?  Kyards  —  three  for  you,  Mr.  Loring  ?" 

For  three  hours  they  played.  Every  little 
while  Hankins  rose,  and  brought  more  drinks. 

"  On  the  game,  gents,  on  the  game ! "  he  ex- 
claimed each  time. 

Sometimes  one  was  ahead,  sometimes  an- 
other, but  no  one  had  any  decided  advantage. 
Stephen  played  mechanically.  The  voices  of  the 
other  men  seemed  to  him  far  away,  and  indis- 
tinct. 

Then  the  luck  changed,  and  Loring  began  to 
win  steadily.  His  success  drew  him  on.  He 
played  recklessly,  but  by  some  sport  of  fate  con- 

122 


THE  UP  GRADE 

tinued  to  win.  He  had  a  stiff  smile  upon  his 
lips,  and  was  evidently  playing  blindly. 

"Say,  Hankie,  I  guess  we  are  being  bitten," 
remarked  Jackson  dryly. 

"It  sure  looks  that  way.  Mr.  Loring  here  is  a 
great  player.  We  did  n't  know  what  we  were 
up  against,  did  we  ?" 

In  his  maudlin  condition  these  words  delighted 
Stephen.  With  only  a  pair  of  threes  in  his  hand 
he  pulled  in  a  stack  of  chips,  on  which  the 
others  had  dropped  out. 

Hankins  was  shuffling,  preparatory  to  his  deal. 
As  he  twisted  the  cards  in  his  fingers,  he  gave  a 
vivid,  if  immoral,  account  of  his  last  trip  to  Tuc- 
son. Loring' s  head  was  swimming,  but  he 
caught  the  words:  "She  was  the  stuff  all  right, 
all  right." 

Suddenly  Jackson  jumped  to  his  feet,  and 
stood  as  if  listening  intently. 

"I  guess  your  caballo  must  be  loose,  Mr.  Lor- 
ing; seems  to  me  I  hear  him  sort  of  stamping 
round  outside.  Did  you  hitch  him  tight?" 

Loring  staggered  to  the  door  and  looked  out. 
From  the  blackness  came  a  gust  of  wind  and 
rain  that  cooled  his  flushed  forehead. 

"  I  think  he  's  all  right.  Can't  see  anything 
123 


THE  UP  GRADE 

at  all.  Must  have  been  wind  you  heard.  Big, 
big  wind  outside." 

During  his  absence  from  the  table,  Hankins 
had  dealt.  Stephen  picked  up  his  cards.  At 
first  he  could  not  distinguish  them.  They  seemed 
to  be  all  a  blur  of  color.  Then  it  slowly  dawned 
upon  him  that  he  held  four  kings  and  a  jack. 
His  head  reeled  with  excitement. 

"Any  objection  to  raising  limit?"  he  asked 
eagerly,  with  an  unconcealed  look  of  triumph 
upon  his  face. 

"Wa-al,  of  course,  if  you  want  to,  we  '11  come 
along,  just  to  make  the  game  interesting," 
drawled  Jackson;  "I  guess  you  have  us  stung 
all  right.  Only  one  card  for  you  ?  Gawd,  you 
must  have  a  fat  hand  !" 

Loring  kept  raising  and  raising,  until  he 
reached  the  limit  of  all  that  he  owned  in  the 
world.  Then,  for  drunk  or  sober,  he  was  no 
man  to  bet  what  he  did  not  have,  he  called. 
Throwing  his  cards  face  upwards  upon  the 
table,  he  reached  unsteadily  for  the  huge  pile 
of  chips. 

"  F-Four  kings  ! "  he  shouted  exultantly.  "  I 
—  think  —  they  are  good." 

Jackson  looked  at  Stephen's  half-shut  eyes, 
124 


It  seems  like  as  if  you  was  bitten,  Mr.  Loring,'  said 
Hawkins."      Page 


THE  UP  GRADE 

at  the  heavy  way  his  elbow  rested  on  the  table, 
and  smiled.  Then  with  a  broad  wink  at  Han- 
kins,  he  exclaimed. 

"Well,  I  '11  be  damned.  Ain't  this  the  luck ! 
Here  's  four  aces  !  By  Gawd  !" 

"  It  seems  like  as  if  you  was  bitten,  Mr.  Lor- 
ing,"  said  Hankins.  "Great  game  that  was. 
Well,  gents,  have  another  drink  now  on  the 
house." 

Stephen,  in  a  dazed  manner,  took  his  drink, 
then  dimly  there  came  into  his  mind  his  orders 
to  work  night  shift. 

"What  —  whatsh  the  time  ?"   he  asked. 

"It 's  close  to  ten,"  answered  Jackson. 

The  faint  idea  kept  crawling  in  Loring's 
mind:  "Night  shift,  hoist,  must  go."  He 
plunged  out  into  the  darkness,  and  tried  to  drag 
himself  into  the  saddle. 

When  he  had  gone  the  two  other  men  roared 
with  laughter. 

"That  was  easy,"  exclaimed  Jackson,  "but 
I  guess  we  had  better  look  after  him  a  bit  now, 
or  he  will  be  in  trouble."  They  went  out  after 
Stephen,  and  found  him  still  trying  to  climb  into 
the  saddle.  Each  time  that  he  tried,  he  almost 
succeeded,  then  he  swayed,  and  fell  back  onto 


THE  UP  GRADE 

the  muddy  ground.  The  pony,  under  these  un- 
usual proceedings,  was  growing  restive.  They 
lifted  Stephen  onto  the  horse.  He  lurched,  and 
almost  fell  off  on  the  other  side. 

"  Easy  now.    You  're  all  right,"  said  Jackson. 

Taking  the  pony  by  the  bridle  he  led  him  into 
the  saloon.  With  Loring  swaying  in  the  saddle, 
the  horse  walked  listlessly  up  to  the  bar,  while 
Hankins  playfully  pulled  his  tail. 

"Great  pony,  that,  Mr.  Loring;  he  knows  a 
good  place,  all  right.  He  '11  take  you  down 
the  trail  fine  as  can  be.  He 's  a  wise  one, 
for  sure." 

They  led  the  pony  to  the  door  again,  the  hoofs 
creaking  strangely  on  the  wooden  floor. 

"Look  out  for  your  head,  Mr.  Loring! 
That's  good.  A  Dios  —  good  night!" 

From  the  trail  Loring's  voice  carried  back. 
He  was  singing  at  the  top  of  his  lungs. 

"Full  right  up  to  his  ears!"  ejaculated  Han- 
kins.  "I  hope  he  don't  fall  off  and  break  his 
neck." 

Meanwhile  the  faithful  little  horse  trudged 

steadily   down   the  trail,   carrying  his   helpless 

master.    There  are  few  Arizona  horses  which  do 

not  understand  the  symptoms  indicated  by  a  limp 

126 


THE  UP  GRADE 

weight  in  the  saddle,  and  meaningless  tugs  on  the 
bridle. 

The  camp,  save  for  the  flare  by  the  smelter, 
was  unlit.  The  pony  went  straight  to  the  corral, 
past  all  the  dark,  silent  tents  and  shacks.  The 
sound  of  the  hoof-beats  echoed  very  clearly  in 
the  stillness.  At  the  corral  Loring  tried  to  dis- 
mount, and  fell  from  the  saddle  hard.  The 
shock  roused  his  consciousness. 

"Must  be  near  'leven.  What,  what  wash  I 
going  —  going  to  do  at  'leven  ?  Oh,  yes.  Hoist, 
extra  shift."  Leaving  the  poor  pony  standing 
still  saddled  in  the  rain,  he  started  up  the  hill  for 
the  hoist. 

Reaching  the  steps  of  the  deserted  tienda, 
he  sat  down  and  supported  his  head  with  his 
hands. 

"  I  guess  I  must  be  —  a  bit  —  tight,"  he 
thought. 

The  world  began  to  whirl,  to  drop  suddenly, 
to  rise,  to  twist.  He  bit  his  lips  and  pressed  his 
knuckles  hard  against  his  temples. 

"  Must  sober  up  !  "  he  kept  repeating  to  him- 
self. 

Sweat  broke  out  all  over  him.  He  became 
ghastly  ill.  Lying  at  full  length  in  the  muddy 
127 


THE  UP  GRADE 

road,  before  the  steps,  he  did  not  notice  the  rain 
that  beat  down  upon  him.  Gradually  he  began 
to  lose  consciousness. 

The  whistle  blew  dull  and  discordant  for  the 
eleven  o'clock  shift. 


128 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A  the  echo  of  the  whistle  died  away,  Lor- 
ing  raised  himself,  and  staggered  to  his 
feet.     Not   realizing  what  he   did,  he 
groped  his  way  onward  up  the  hill.    As  he  passed 
the  men  hurrying  home  from  the  last  shift,  he 
noticed,  as  in  a  dream,  the  way  in  which  the  wet 
clothes  clung  to  their  skins,  the  heavy  folds  ac- 
centuated by  the  glare  of  the  occasional  electric 
light. 

Hughson,  in  the  hoist  shed,  was  cursing  volu- 
bly at  his  delay  in  coming.  As  soon  as  he  saw 
Loring  he  grabbed  his  coat,  and  calling  out  a 
hurried  imprecation,  started  down  the  hill. 

Stephen  had  scarcely  stepped  to  his  place  by 
the  drum,  when  the  indicator  clanged  sharply 
one  bell.  Mechanically  he  threw  his  weight 
against  the  lever,  and  shot  the  first  bucket  of  ore 
mined  by  the  shift  high  into  the  dim  light,  al- 
most into  the  tripod  framework  upon  which  the 
cable  hung. 

9  129 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Uncomprehendingly,  he  watched  the  figures 
outside  bang  down  the  iron  coverings  over  the 
shaft,  and  wheel  the  clanking  ore  car  onto  the 
tracks  beneath  the  suspended  bucket.  The  men 
seemed  to  Loring  to  be  possessed  of  magical 
deftness  as  they  unshackled  the  full  bucket, 
and  clamped  the  swinging  hook  through  the  bar 
of  the  empty  one.  The  loaded  ore  car  bumped 
groaningly  off  on  its  journey  down  to  the  cribs, 
the  iron  coverings  opened,  and  a  voice  called : 
"Lower!" 

At  times  Stephen's  head  cleared  somewhat, 
and  he  noticed  every  detail  in  the  hoist  shed. 
He  stared  at  the  way  the  shadows  from  the  one 
electric  light  fell  on  the  rough  boards.  The  water 
jug  in  the  corner,  the  disordered  tool  box,  the 
little  pile  of  oily  waste  by  the  boiler,  all  photo- 
graphed themselves  on  his  eye.  He  noticed  the 
great  pile  of  beams  in  the  back  of  the  shed, 
the  timbering  for  the  new  shaft,  lettered  with 
huge  blue  stencils,  and  watched  with  interest 
the  flare  in  the  furnace  when  the  Mexican  stoker 
threw  fresh  armfuls  of  mesquite  wood  upon  the 
fire. 

Then  again  all  was  whirl,  and  he  was  obliged 
to  grip  his  stool  to  keep  from  falling.  His  hand 
130 


THE  UP  GRADE 

clung  to  the  control  lever  with  damp,  clinging 
pressure. 

Every  few  minutes  the  gong  would  sound, 
telling  that  another  load  of  ore  was  waiting  to  be 
raised.  Once  he  ran  the  "skip"  so  high  above 
the  shaft,  that  it  crashed  into  the  framework. 
It  seemed  to  be  some  one  entirely  disconnected 
with  himself  who  fumbled  with  the  winch,  and 
lowered  the  bucket  again,  until  the  shrill : 
"O.  K. !  'Sta  'ueno!"  from  the  darkness  outside 
told  of  the  proper  level.  Between  the  striking 
of  the  bells,  Stephen  puzzled  over  the  meaning 
of  the  white  painted  bands  on  the  cable,  which 
should  have  told  him  at  what  level  the  bucket 
was. 

The  time  seemed  to  drag  endlessly.  Still  the 
buckets  continued  to  come.  Just  outside  the 
door  of  the  shed  he  could  see  the  peg  board  that 
indicated  the  tally  of  buckets  raised.  He  swore 
at  it  bitterly.  "Why  can't  the  checker  put  in 
two  pegs  at  a  time,  until  the  board  is  full,  and 
the  shift  finished?"  he  thought. 

Whenever  the  winch  was  in  motion,  the  grat- 
ing roar  of  the  cable  winding  in  or  out  seemed 
to  be  inside  his  own  head.  Steadily  he  became 
more  and  more  bewildered.  His  will  was  rapidly 


THE  UP  GRADE 

losing  the  desperate  fight  for  control.  Once  he 
fell  off  his  stool. 

There  was  a  slight  delay  in  the  work.  The 
next  bucket  was  slow  in  being  signaled. 

"What  lazy  men  —  what  lazy  men!"  he 
murmured. 

Then  clear  and  sharp  rang  the  signal : "  Clang- 
Clang  -  Clang  —  Clang ! "  Loring  was  too  dazed 
to  remember  that  three  bells  before  the  one  to 
hoist  was  the  signal  for  "man  on  the  bucket." 
The  one  bell  telling  to  raise,  or  two  to  lower,  had 
conveyed  their  meaning  automatically  to  him. 
The  sudden  change  was  incomprehensible. 

"Clang  -  Clang  -  Clang  —  Clang!"  again 
the  indicator  rang.  This  time  with  a  sharp,  in- 
sistent sound. 

"Perhaps  they  want  it  to  come  up  fast.  Oh, 
very,  very  fast,"  was  the  thought  that  came  to 
him,  and  he  threw  the  lever  all  the  way  over. 

Fascinated,  he  watched  the  cable  tearing  past 
him  on  the  drum. 

"  Funny  —  they  —  should  —  signal  —  that  — 
way,"  he  spoke  aloud.  "  Perhaps  —  they  —  are 
—  drunk  —  too." 

Faster  and  faster  whirled  the  reel.  The  mark 
for  the  four  hundred  level  flashed  by.  Almost 
132 


THE  UP  GRADE 

in  an  instant  the  marking  for  the  three  hundred 
followed.  The  blur  of  white  upon  the  cable, 
telling  that  the  bucket  was  only  two  hundred  feet 
below  the  surface  seemed  to  come  within  a 
second.  He  did  not  see  the  marking  for  the  last 
hundred  feet. 

Suddenly,  out  of  the  bowels  of  the  earth  shot 
the  bucket.  For  a  sixtieth  of  a  second  two 
figures,  standing  on  the  edge,  were  outlined. 
Loring  heard  a  shriek,  half  drowned  in  a  crash 
and  roar,  as  the  bucket,  with  its  human  freight, 
was  hurled  against  the  overhead  supports. 

He  smiled  foolishly,  and  hopelessly  fingered 
the  lever. 

Outside,  by  the  shaft  mouth,  all  was  in  wild 
confusion.  Shouts,  curses,  hoarse  whispers,  all 
were  intermingled.  Then  came  the  sound  of 
feet,  tramping  in  unison,  and  men  entered  the 
shed  carrying  a  —  thing  —  its  head  driven  into 
its  shoulders.  Loring  looked  —  stared  —  then 
he  knew. 

Like  a  knife  cutting  into  the  mist  of  dizziness 
came  realization.  The  truth  burned  its  way 
into  his  mind,  and  sobered  him. 

"My  God!"  he  sobbed.  "The  signal  was 
for  men  on  the  bucket."  It  flashed  upon  him 
'33 


THE  UP  GRADE 

what  had  happened.  The  men,  standing  upon 
the  edge  of  the  bucket,  holding  onto  the  cable, 
had  been  dashed  into  the  tripod  framework, 
which  overhung  the  shaft  mouth,  a  scant  ten 
feet  above  the  ground. 

Shaking,  as  with  ague,  he  stepped  outside 
to  the  shaft. 

A  crowd  of  Mexicans  were  jabbering.  The 
voices  of  several  Americans  carried  above  the 
soft  slur  of  the  Spanish.  Some  one  was  holding 
a  lantern  over  the  mouth  of  the  shaft,  and 
cautiously  peering  down.  Up  the  hill  came 
the  sound  of  running  feet. 

"  Here  's  the  Doc,  now ! "   called  some  one. 

They  showed  Dr.  Kline  the  body  on  the  floor 
of  the  hoist  box.  He  merely  glanced  at  it,  then 
picking  up  a  burlap  sack  laid  it  over  the  head. 

"Where  is  the  other  man  ?"   he  asked  curtly. 

Some  one,  with  a  quick  gesture,  pointed 
towards  the  shaft.  "Down  there." 

A  small,  close  set  ladder,  for  use  in  case  of 
emergency,  ran  down  the  shaft.  Down  this 
two  of  the  Americans  started  to  climb.  The 
group  by  the  edge  watched  breathlessly,  while 
the  light  of  their  lantern  dropped  —  dropped  - 
dropped. 

134 


THE  UP  GRADE 

For  the  first  twenty  feet  the  lantern  illumi- 
nated the  greasy  sides  of  the  shaft,  bringing 
out  clearly  the  knots  and  chinks  in  the  boards. 
Then  the  light  shrank  into  the  darkness,  be- 
came a  mere  dot.  After  a  long  minute  the  dot 
began  to  sway  back  and  forth.  But  so  far  down 
was  it  that  it  seemed  to  have  a  radius  only  of 
inches. 

"They  have  found  him,"  breathed  McKay, 
who  had  reached  the  scene.  On  the  iron  piping 
of  the  shaft  pump  tapped  dully  the  signal  to 
lower  slowly.  Loring  started  for  his  place  at  the 
engine. 

"  Get  to  hell  out  of  here !  You  Ve  done 
enough  harm  for  one  night." 

Hughson,  with  his  white  night-shirt  half  out 
of  his  trousers,  his  boots  unlaced,  and  his  eyes 
still  heavy  from  sleep,  shoved  him  aside  and 
took  hold  of  the  lever.  Slowly  he  lowered  the 
"skip."  It  seemed  to  Loring  an  hour  before 
it  reached  the  bottom. 

Then  again  on  the  pipe,  for  the  bell-rope 
was  broken,  was  rapped  the  signal. 

"One -one -one  —  one."  In  the  night  air 
the  clank  of  the  taps  on  the  metal  sounded 
ghostly. 

135 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Slowly  the  bucket  came  to  the  surface.  The 
two  men  who  had  descended  were  holding  in  it 
a  swaying  figure.  Many  hands  lifted  the  figure 
gently  to  the  ground.  The  doctor  bent  over  it, 
then  shook  his  head. 

"Nothing  doing,"  he  said  dryly,  and  they 
laid  the  body  beside  the  other.  t 

A  commanding  voice  echoed  through  the 
group.  It  was  Mr.  Cameron's. 

"  Where  is  Loring  ? "  he  asked  decisively. 

Stephen,  in  the  background,  turned '  away, 
and,  with  a  face  like  chalk  etched  with 
acid,  stumbled  down  the  hill.  Complete 
agony  possessed  him.  Hitherto,  when  he  had 
failed,  he  had  hurt  himself  alone.  Now  he 
was  little  better  than  a  murderer.  Drunk  on 
duty,  when  men's  lives  were  dependent  upon 
him ! 

By  some  blind  instinct  he  found  his  way 
to  his  tent,  pulled  back  the  flap,  and  entered. 
Lynn  was  snoring  quietly  in  his  corner.  His 
boots  lay  on  the  flooj-,  strange  shapes  in  the  dark. 
The  alarm  clock  standing  on  the  table  close  by 
his  head  ticked  softly  and  monotonously. 

Loring  gasped  for  breath,  swayed,  and  fell 
unconscious  upon  his  cot. 
136 


THE  UP  GRADE 

The  bodies  of  the  two  miners  had  been  car- 
ried to  the  hospital,  and  with  Hughson  in  charge 
of  the  hoist,  the  ore  buckets  were  again  coming 
,up,  when  Mr.  Cameron  and  McKay  left  the 
scene  of  the  accident  and  through  the  darkness 
groped  their  way  down  the  hill. 

"  Some  one  told  me  that  he  'd  seen  Loring 
drinking  this  evening,"  said  McKay. 

"That  explains  all,"  answered  Mr.  Cameron 
gruffly.  "I  should  have  known  !  I'should  have 
known !  After  the  experience  with  men  that  I 
have  had,  to  put  a  man  like  Loring  in  a  position 
of  responsibility  !  I  am  the  one  who  is  to  blame 
for  this.  And  yet  he  did  seem  to  have  pulled 
himself  together.  This  will  finish  him,  though. 
Mark  me,  McKay,  before  this  he  has  been  going 
to  hell  with  the  brakes  on.  Now  he  will  run 
wild.  Two  men  dead !  That  is  a  rather  heavy 
reckoning  for  Mr.  Stephen  Loring  to  settle 
with  himself.  If  I  did  not  owe  so  much  to 
him,  I  would  have  him  in  prison  for  to-night's 
work." 

McKay  nodded  solemnly. 

"I  liked  him  a  lot.  I  thought  that  he  had 
different  stuff  in  him.  As  you  say,  this  will 
probably  finish  his  chances;  but  it  may,"  he 
137 


THE  UP  GRADE 

hesitated,  "it  may  make  a  man  out  of  him.  If 
this  don't,  God  himself  can't  help  him." 

"What  were  the  names  of  the  men  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Cameron. 

"  Marques  was  one.  He  used  to  work  for  me. 
The  other  was  a  new  man,  Duran,  or  Doran, 
some  one  said  was  his  name." 

"Were  they  married  ?"  queried  Mr.  Cameron. 

"No." 

"That  is  a  blessing.  Well,  good  night, 
McKay.  I  shall  see  Loring  in  the  morning." 

"Good  night,"  answered  McKay,  and  he 
added  under  his  breath:  "I  think  I'd  rather 
not  be  Loring  in  the  morning.  Too  bad !  .  Too 
bad!" 

There  was  a  light  in  Mr.  Cameron's  house. 
As  her  father  tramped  up  the  steps  Jean  threw 
open  the  door  and  came  towards  him.  Her  hair 
fell  in  waves  over  her  dressing-gown.  The 
candle  in  her  hand  threw  its  light  into  eyes 
which  asked  an  anxious  question  from  beneath 
their  arching  brows. 

"  Father,  what  is  the  matter  ? "  Jean  ex- 
claimed, as  Mr.  Cameron  advanced. 

"There  has  been  an  accident  at  Number 
Three  hoist,"  answered  Mr.  Cameron. 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Jean  drew  a  quick  sharp  breath.  "Is  Mr. 
Loring  hurt?"  she  asked,  bending  forward  to 
look  into  her  father's  face. 

Mr.  Cameron  looked  at  her  hard.  Then  a 
grim  humor  glinted  in  his  eyes  as  he  answered : 
"  Loring  hurt  ?  Well  —  not  —  exactly." 

Without  a  word  Jean  turned  and  led  the  way 
into  the  living-room,  where  the  hastily  lighted 
lamp  flared  high,  leaving  a  smooch  of  smut  on 
the  chimney  and  casting  bright  reflections  on 
the  rough  planks  of  the  board  wall.  The  girl 
walked  calmly  to  the  table  and  lowered  the  wick 
of  the  lamp.  Then  she  tossed  back  the  masses 
of  her  hair,  and  turning  sharply  to  her  father 
she  uttered  one  word:  "Well?" 

"Well!"  echoed  Mr.  Cameron,  throwing 
himself  into  a  chair  by  the  fireplace.  "Well!" 
I  should  say  that  was  a  curious  word  to  de- 
scribe to-night's  doings." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Mean  ?  I  mean  that  your  Mr.  Loring  is  a 
damned  scoundrel." 

"I  do  not  believe  it.  You  speak  too  harshly. 
You  are  angry." 

"Hum!     Perhaps." 

Jean  stood  with  downcast  eyes.  Suddenly 
139 


THE  UP  GRADE 

she  raised  them  like  a  condemned  man  about 
to  receive  his  sentence. 

"What  has  he  done?" 

"He  has  murdered  two  Mexicans." 

Jean  shivered  and  drew  the  folds  of  her 
dressing  gown  closer  about  her.  "Mr.  Loring 
a  murderer!  Impossible!" 

"Nothing  is  impossible  to  a  man  when  he  is 
drunk." 

"Oh,  he  was  drunk,  was  he?  At  the  shaft, 
I  suppose." 

The  note  of  relief  in  Jean's  tone  seemed 
to  add  the  last  touch  to  Mr.  Cameron's  ex- 
asperation. 

"  Do  you  think  it  was  any  excuse  that  Loring 
was  drunk  on  duty  with  men's  lives  in  his 
hands  ?  You  women  have  a  queer  code." 

"No,"  observed  Jean,  "it  is  not  an  excuse. 
It  is  an  explanation.  That  I  can  understand. 
The  other  I  could  not." 

"Yes,  and  I  can  understand  it,  too.  It 
means  that  I  was  a  fool  for  trusting  him.  I 
should  never  have  done  it,  never!" 

Jean  Cameron  stole  around  to  the  back  of 
her  father's  chair  and  leaned  over  till  her  face 
almost  touched  his.  "Remember,"  she  said 
140 


THE  UP  GRADE 

in  a  low  tone,  "if  he  has  lost  two  lives,  he  saved 
one." 

"  Damn  me !  Am  I  likely  to  forget  it  ? " 
Mr.  Cameron  answered,  shaking  off  his  daugh- 
ter's hands  which  had  been  laid  lightly  on  his 
shoulders.  "Why  else  did  I  take  him  on  as 
hoist  engineer  ?  It  was  paying  a  debt,  so  I 
thought.  But  I  had  no  right  to  pay  at  other 
men's  risk ;  and  after  all  I  had  done  for  him  he 
could  not  have  the  decency  to  keep  sober  on 
duty  —  well,  it  is  too  late  to  think  of  that  now." 

Jean  turned  away  and  twisted  the  curling 
ends  of  her  hair  slowly  about  her  finger  ends. 
"Tell  me  just  what  happened,"  she  said 
unsteadily. 

"It  is  a  short  story,"  her  father  answered 
gruffly.  "Two  men  in  the  cage  at  the  bottom 
of  the  mine  signaled  to  raise  —  engineer,  drunk, 
sets  lever  at  top  speed.  If  you  cannot  imagine 
what  happened,  you  may  take  a  lantern  and  go 
over  yonder  to  see." 

Jean  sank  shuddering  on  the  window-seat 
and  buried  her  head  in  the  cushions.  Her 
silence  calmed  her  father's  wrath  as  her  speech 
had  stirred  it.  "There,  there!"  Mr.  Cameron 
said  soothingly,  as  he  walked  across  to  the 
141 


THE  UP  GRADE 

window  and  stroked  the  bowed  head.  "It  is 
nothing  for  you  to  be  so  downhearted  about, 
my  lass.  You  had  nothing  to  do  with  it." 

Still  the  girl  lay  motionless. 

"  Come,  come,  Jean !  It  is  all  over  now  for 
those  poor  fellows,  and  as  for  Loring,  you  will 
never  see  him  again." 

The  figure  on  the  window-seat  stirred  slightly, 
and  from  the  pillows  a  muffled  voice  asked 
tremulously,  "What  will  be  done  to  him  ?" 

"That  depends,"  answered  Mr.  Cameron, 
"on  whether  the  Mexicans  decide  on  a  demon- 
stration between  now  and  to-morrow  morning." 

"Oh!"  cried  Jean,  suddenly  sitting  up  and 
wheeling  about  with  pale  cheeks  and  flashing 
eyes,  "they  dare  not.  You  would  never  allow 
it.  Why  are  there  no  men  guarding  him  ?  It 
is  as  bad  as  murder." 

"Not  quite,"  her  father  replied  slowly.  "Be- 
sides, if  the  Mexicans  were  drunk,  you  could 
not  hold  them  responsible.  That  would  be  - 
what  is  it?-  -'Not  an  excuse,  but  an  explana- 
tion.' However,  Loring  is  safe  enough  for 
to-night,  and  I  promise  you  he  will  be  far  away 
by  to-morrow." 

With  these  words  Mr.  Cameron  thrust  his 
142 


THE  UP  GRADE 

hands  into  his  pockets,  and  rising,  strode  up 
and  down  the  room,  the  boards  creaking  under 
his  slow  tread.  His  daughter  leaned  against 
the  window,  staring  out  into  the  night. 

"Oh  !"  she  whispered,  as  if  to  some  presence 
palpable  though  invisible,  "how  could  you? 
How  could  you  do  it  after  what  you  promised 
me?"  Then  she  turned  her  head  and  caught 
sight  of  her  father's  resolute  back. 

"He  is  rather  a  lovable  person,"  she  said, 
with  a  little  catch  in  her  voice.  "Don't  you 
think  he  will  feel  badly  enough  without  much 
being  said  to  him  about  —  about  the  accident  ?" 
Her  father  laughed  a  short,  uncompromising 
laugh. 


143 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE  next  morning  Stephen  awoke  with 
a  start,  conscious  that  some  one  was 
standing  beside  his  cot,  as  he  lay  fully 
dressed  outside  the  blankets.  Mr.  Cameron 
was  looking  down  upon  him.  When  he  strug- 
gled to  his  feet,  Loring's  mind  was  all  confused. 
He  ran  his  hand  through  his  matted  hair. 

"Where  am  I  ?"  he  murmured. 

Mr.  Cameron's  face  was  set  decisively.  It 
was  easy  to  see  from  which  parent  Jean  had 
inherited  the  modeling  of  the  lower  portion 
of  her  face. 

"Come  outside,  Loring!"  There  was  a  chill 
incisiveness  in  the  words  which  shocked  Stephen 
into  recollection.  He  followed  Mr.  Cameron 
out  of  the  tent. 

The  bright,  early  morning  sunlight  made 
his  hot  eyeballs  water,  and  he  blinked  uncom- 
fortably, yis  knees  shook  from  weakness  so 
that  he  leaned  against  the  fence  beside  his  tent. 
Such  absolute  misery  possessed  him  that  he 
144 


THE  UP  GRADE 

could  not  think.  His  brain  was  numb.  His 
mouth  felt  as  if  all  the  moisture  had  been  baked 
out  of  it. 

Mr.  Cameron  looked  him  over  carefully  and 
contemptuously,  then  fumbled  in  his  waistcoat 
pocket,  and  produced  a  cigar.  Eyeing  Loring 
all  the  while,  he  slowly  bit  off  the  end,  and 
lighted  the  cigar.  Before  he  spoke,  he  took 
several  deliberate  puffs.  It  was  a  good  cigar; 
but  the  rich  smell  of  the  fumes  made  Loring 
turn  a  shade  whiter. 

"Well,  Loring,  I  suppose  you  know  what 
this  means  for  you  ?"  began  Mr.  Cameron 
slowly.  "  A  rather  nice  piece  of  work  of  yours, 
on  the  whole.  Two  men  killed  by  your  effi- 
ciency !  I  do  not  suppose  that  there  is  any  use 
in  asking  you  if  you  were  drunk  ?"  There  was 
very  little  of  the  question  in  Mr.  Cameron's 
voice. 

Stephen  gripped  the  fence  hard,  then  shook 
his  head. 

''I  do  not  like  to  dismiss  you,  Loring,  for  I 
am  in  your  debt  for  saving  my  daughter's  life." 
Judging  from  his  expression  as  he  said  this, 
the  thought  of  the  debt  did  not  greatly  please 
Mr.  Cameron. 

145 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Stephen  looked  out  over  the  mountains.  His 
eyes  were  glistening  with  moisture  —  and  this 
time  it  was  not  caused  by  the  glare.  It  cut  him 
to  the  quick  that  the  man  who  was  so  right- 
eously dismissing  him  should  be  the  father  of 
the  girl  whom  he  loved.  In  a  bitter  moment 
there  flashed  before  his  mind  the  vision  of  all 
his  broken  resolutions,  of  his  now  useless  plans 
for  success.  The  whole  fabric,  which  in  the 
past  months  he  had  woven  for  himself,  he  sud- 
denly saw  torn  to  shreds. 

Mr.  Cameron's  next  words  were  lost  to 
Stephen.  It  was  some  seconds  before  he  could 
again  focus  his  attention.  When  he  caught  up 
the  thread,  Mr.  Cameron  was  saying:  "I  had 
hoped  better  things  from  you,  Loring.  I  should 
have  known  better,  that  when  a  man  is  a  drifter, 
such  as  you  are,  there  is  no  hope.  Still  I  had 
hoped !  Well,  I  was  wrong.  Here  is  your  pay 
check,  for  what  is  due  to  you.  That  is  all." 

Mr.  Cameron  turned  and  walked  towards 
the  office.  Stephen  stood  looking  dumbly  after 
him,  with  the  check  fluttering  loosely  in  his 
fingers.  McKay,  going  by  on  his  way  to  work, 
saw  him,  and  came  up  to  him.  He  held  out  his 
hand  in  sympatny. 

146 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"  Damn  it,  Steve,  I  'm  sorry  for  you !  You 
ain't  worth  a  damn ;  but  I  like  you." 

Stephen  looked  at  him  in  silence.  His  only 
conscious  thought,  as  he  gripped  McKay's 
hand,  was  the  mental  reiteration-  "I  am  worth 
a  damn,  I  am  worth  a  damn." 

McKay  went  on  in  friendly  solicitude:  "Of 
course,  it  ain't  none  of  my  business,  Steve,  but 
if  I  was  you  I  'd  beat  it  pretty  quick.  Just 
at  present  the  friends  of  those  men  ain't 
losing  any  love  on  you.  I  think  if  I  was 
in  your  boots  the  Dominion  trail  would  look 
pretty  good  to  me.  It 's  about  up  to  you  to 
vamos." 

"I  will  go,"  said  Loring.  "It  isn't  that  I 
fear  what  these  Mexicans  may  do,  because  I 
don't  care.  But  I  can't  stand  it  here.  Good-bye, 
Mac !  You  have  been  a  good  friend  to  me.  I 
know  I  deserved  to  be  fired.  Deserved  a  lot 
worse;  but  Mac,"  he  added  desperately,  "I 
will  make  good  somewhere!" 

McKay  almost  imperceptibly  shook  his  head, 
then  smiled  and  again  extended  his  hand. 

"Well,  anyhow,  buck  up,  Steve!  I've  got 
to  get  down  to  work  now.  Good-bye,  and  good 
luck!" 

147 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Wait  just  a  minute!"  Loring  called  after 
him. 

McKay  turned,  and  Stephen  held  out  his 
newly  received  pay  check. 

"Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  give  this  to 
Hankins  up  at  the  saloon,  when  you  get  time  ? 
I  owe  it  to  him,  and  to  his  partner." 

"You  certainly  did  do  things  up  in  great 
shape  last  night,  Steve,"  said  McKay,  as  he  took 
the  check,  after  Stephen  had  endorsed  it  with 
a  shaking  hand.  "Got  cheated,  I  suppose  ?" 

"Rather,"  answered  Loring. 

"It  is  strange,"  thought  McKay  to  himself, 
as  he  walked  away,  "with  fellows  like  these 
saloon  keepers.  You  could  give  them  every- 
thing that  you  have,  and  no  matter  what  hap- 
pened they  would  keep  it  safely  for  you.  But 
play  cards  and  they  '11  stick  it  into  you  for 
keeps." 

Re-entering  his  tent,  Stephen  began  to  put 
his  few  belongings  into  a  saddle-bag.  His 
packing  was  not  a  long  operation.  He  looked 
rather  wistfully  about  the  little  tent,  which 
had  grown  to  seem  to  him  almost  a  home. 
Then,  slinging  the  bag  over  his  shoulder,  he 
started  for  the  corral. 

148 


THE  UP  GRADE 

It  was  still  very  early,  and  few  people  were 
about.  One  or  two  of  the  Mexican  teamsters 
were  at  the  corral,  sleepily  kicking  their  horses 
into  the  traces.  These  looked  at  Stephen  blackly, 
for  in  a  mining  camp  news  travels  very  fast. 

Stephen's  hands  shook  so  that  he  had  great 
difficulty  in  forcing  the  bit  into  the  restive  jaws 
of  his  pony.  At  last,  however,  " Muy  Bueno" 
was  saddled,  and  led  out  into  the  road.  As  Lor- 
ing  was  putting  up  the  corral  bars  again,  a  bare- 
footed little  Mexican  girl  came  pattering  past. 
Stephen  had  often  befriended  her  in  small  ways, 
so  now  she  greeted  him  with  shy  warmth. 

"Buenos  dies,  amigo!"  she  chattered. 

The  little  child's  greeting  started  the  tears  to 
his  eyes.  Fumbling  in  his  pocket,  from  among 
his  few  coins,  he  brought  out  a  quarter.  With  a 
dismal  attempt  at  a  smile,  he  tossed  it  to  her. 

"  Eh,  Senorita  Rosa,  here  is  two  bits  for  you, 
dos  reales,  buy  candy  with  big  pink  stripes." 

The  child  ran  up  to  him  and  gratefully  seized 
his  hand  with  both  of  her  grimy  little  paws.  He 
cut  short  her  repeated  thanks  with  a  quick 
"No  hay  de  que,"  and  swung  into  the  saddle. 

"A  Dtos,"  he  called  to  her.  Then  slowly  he 
rode  to  the  watering-trough.  "Muy  Bueno" 
149 


THE  UP  GRADE 

buried  his  nose  deep  in  the  cool  water,  and  drank 
with  great  gulps.  Stephen  could  feel  the  barrel 
of  the  pony  swell  beneath  the  cinch.  When  he 
could  hold  no  more,  "Muy  Bueno"  raised  his 
head  from  the  trough  questioningly,  the  drops  of 
water  about  the  gray  muzzle  glistening  in  the  sun. 
Stephen  pressed  the  reins  against  the  horse's 
neck,  and  turned  him  towards  the  Dominion 
trail,  which  showed  as  a  ribbon  of  white  upon  the 
hills  to  the  eastward. 

Close  behind  him  he  heard  a  familiar  voice 
singing  an  old  song :  "  La,  la,  boom,  boom.  La, 
la,  boom,  boom."  The  last  word  was  sung  with 
unusual  emphasis,  serving  as  a  salutation  and 
hail. 

Wah,  beaming  with  his  usual  joyousness,  was 
trotting  towards  him. 

"Hey,  me  bludder,  me  bludder.  You  gettee 
canned !  Oh,  me  bludder,  you  allee  samee  fool 
gettee  drunk.  You  beat  it  to  Dominion  ?  Me 
bludder  welly  wise!  La,  la,  boom,  boom!" 
Wah  concluded  his  outburst  with  a  peal  of 
laughter. 

Stephen  looked  down  solemnly  at  him. 

"Damned  funny,  is  n't  it,  Wah  ?" 

"Oh,    me    bludder,    me    bludder !"  —  Wah 


THE  UP  GRADE 

could  get  no  further,  before  another  paroxysm 
of  laughter  overcame  him.  Recovering  some- 
what, he  produced  from  his  blouse  a  greasy 
looking  package. 

"Me  bludder  get  nothing  to  eat  before  he 
come  to  Dominion.  Wah  bring  him  pie,  oh, 
lubbly,  lubbly  pie." 

Stephen  was  deeply  touched  by  the  China- 
man's kindness.  He  shook  his  hand  warmly. 

"  I  had  forgotten  all  about  food.  Good-bye, 
Wah,  and  thank  you  a  lot." 

"Oh,  me  bludder,  wait  one  minnie  morning. 
I  have  note.  Missee  Cameron,  she  send  me 
bludder  a  note!" 

Wah,  with  some  labor,  produced  from  his 
pocket  a  little  envelope,  and  handed  it  to 
Loring. 

"Oh,  lubbly,  lubbly  note!    Oh,  lubbly  —  " 

"Shut  up,  Wah!"  flared  Stephen.  White  as 
death,  he  took  the  note  from  Wah,  and  slipped 
it  inside  his  shirt.  He  could  not  trust  himself  to 
read  it. 

"  Please  thank  her,  Wah,  and  -  He  could 
say  no  more.  Slowly  he  turned  his  horse,  and 
rode  towards  the  hills. 

Wah  walked  away,  murmuring  beneath  his 


THE  UP  GRADE 

breath :  "  La,  la,  boom,  boom,  me  poor  bludder. 
He  must  habee  hellee  headache.  La,  la,  boom, 
boom." 

Stephen  soon  reached  the  place  on  the  trail 
where  was  situated  the  old  deserted  "Q"  ranch. - 
A  rusty  iron  tank  by  the  shanty  bore  the  crudely 
painted  sign:  "Water,  Cattle  10  cts.  per  head. 
Horses  25  cts."  Beside  the  tank,  however,  in 
what  had  evidently  formerly  been  an  empty  bed, 
gushed  a  clear  stream  of  water.  Stephen  smiled 
when  he  saw  how  nature  had  thwarted  the  primi- 
tive monopoly. 

Dismounting,  he  lifted  the  saddle  from  his 
horse's  back.  Then  he  deftly  hobbled  him,  and 
left  him  to  eat  what  grass  there  was  by  the  rocky 
stream  bed,  within  a  radius  which  he  could  cover 
with  his  fore  legs  tied  together.  Stephen  then 
seated  himself  on  the  ground,  propped  the  saddle 
behind  his  back,  and  proceeded  to  light  a  pipe, 
and  to  think.  All  the  events  of  the  past  few 
hours  had  come  upon  him  with  such  rapidity 
that  he  had  had  no  time  for  reflection. 

Seated  there  in  the  open,  beneath  the  vivid 

blue  sky,  with  no  sound  but  that  of  the  softly, 

coolly  running  water  near,  all  the  scene  of  the 

accident  loomed  clearly  before  him,  far  more 

152 


THE  UP  GRADE 

clearly  than  it  had  done  in  the  morning  when  he 
had  still  been  in  the  camp,  and  surrounded  by 
the  routine  of  life  there.  The  very  warmth  of 
the  sunlight,  which  should  have  made  a  man's 

,art  bound  with  the  joy  of  living,  merely  added 
to  the  blackness  of  his  mood. 

He  was  very  nervous,  and  smoked  with  quick, 
hard  puffs.  Once  his  pony  started  at  something. 
The  sound  brought  Loring  to  his  feet,  all  of  a 
quiver.  He  sat  down  again,  wiping  the  perspira- 
tion from  his  forehead  with  an  excited  gesture. 
Gripping  his  hands  together  hard,  he  thought  the 
situation  over  and  over.  The  more  he  thought 
of  it,  the  worse  it  seemed.  This  was  not  a  case 
which  could  be  called  the  result  of  negligence,  or 
drifting.  It  came  very  close  to  crime,  and  he 
knew  it.  Stephen  Loring  was  a  man  who,  when 
he  sat  in  judgment  upon  himself,  was  unflinch- 
ing. He  weakened  only  when  it  came  to  carrying 
out  the  sentence  which  the  court  imposed.  He 
thought  of  Miss  Cameron,  as  she  had  been  on 
the  ride  which  they  had  taken  together;  then  of 
what  she  must  think  of  him  now.  This  brought 
a  flush  of  shame  to  his  cheeks. 

Suddenly  he  recalled  the  note  which  Wah  had 
brought  to  him,  and  he  took  it  reverently  from 
153 


THE  UP  GRADE 

his  blouse.  It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  ever 
seen  her  handwriting.  His  name  was  written 
upon  the  envelope  in  clear,  decided  letters,  which 
coincided  well  with  the  character  of  the  writer. 
Stephen  looked  at  the  writing,  with  an  infinite 
tenderness  softening  the  lines  on  his  face.  He 
started  to  tear  open  the  envelope,  then  suddenly 
he  stopped. 

"I  won't,"  he  exclaimed,  half  aloud.  "I  will 
not  read  it  until  I  am  worthy  to  do  so,  or  until  I 
have  a  great  need  of  it."  Reluctantly  he  slid 
the  note  back  into  his  blouse.  Then,  coloring, 
he  pushed  it  over  to  his  left  side.  His  heart 
seemed  to  beat  more  strongly,  more  manfully, 
for  the  companionship. 

He  had  eaten  no  breakfast,  and  began  to  be 
conscious  of  a  great  hunger.  He  ate,  down  to 
the  last  crust,  the  pie  which  Wah  had  given  to 
him.  It  was  as  good  as  its  maker  had  claimed 
it  to  be. 

There  is  nothing  in  the  world  equal  to  food 
for  restoring  self-respect,  and  Stephen,  having 
eaten,  began  to  see  the  world  more  normally. 
Tightening  his  belt,  he  took  a  long  drink  from 
the  stream,  then  saddled  "Muy  Bueno"  and 
started  again  on  his  way. 
154 


THE  UP  GRADE 

All  the  afternoon  he  rode  continually  up  hill, 
till  towards  five  o'clock  he  struck  the  Dominion 
divide,  and  timber.  The  air  here,  in  contrast 
to  the  valley  below,  was  cold,  and  Loring,  only 
thinly  dressed,  shivered.  Several  times  cattle 
"outfits"  passed  him  on  the  trail.  Men  were 
driving  in  from  the  range  scraggly  bunches  of 
steers,  to  be  fattened  before  selling.  Once  he 
did  not  pull  his  horse  out  of  the  trail  in  time,  and 
sent  a  bunch  of  frightened  cattle  stampeding 
into  the  underbrush.  He  was  so  engrossed  in  his 
thoughts  that  he  hardly  noticed  the  cursing 
which  he  received  from  the  ranchmen. 

At  dusk,  beside  the  trail,  he  saw  a  bright  fire 
in  front  of  a  tent.  Two  men,  occupied  in  frying 
bacon,  and  boiling  coffee,  were  seated  before  it. 
The  smell  that  arose  from  the  cooking  appealed 
strongly  to  Stephen,  and  he  reined  in  his  horse. 

"  Howdy,  stranger !  Making  for  Dominion  ?" 
one  of  the  men  called  out.  "Well,  you  won't 
get  there  for  some  time  yet.  It  is  twelve  miles 
from  here.  Better  let  us  stake  you  to  a  meal. 
Come  from  Quentin,  do  you  ?  Me  and  my  pard- 
ner  was  going  there  to-morrow." 

Stephen,  with  alacrity,  accepted  the  proffered 
hospitality. 

155 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Much  obliged,  friend,"  he  said.  "I'm 
pretty  well  broke,  and  I  was  not  expecting  to 
get  anything  to  eat  to-night." 

"Don't  worry  about  that.  You  shan't  go 
by  our  outfit  hungry.  We  ain't  made  that  way. 
There  was  a  cuss  I  knowed  once,"  continued  one 
of  Loring's  hosts,  "up  in  Cochise  County.  I 
was  broke,  flat  busted,  when  I  was  there,  and  I 
asked  him  to  stake  me  to  a  meal,  and  say,  the 
mean  skunk  would  n't  come  through  at  all.  Said 
I  could  '  watch  him  eat.'  Now  what  do  you 
think  of  that  ?"  As  he  recalled  the  crime  against 
hospitality,  the  man  kicked  vigorously  at  one 
of  the  logs  on  the  fire. 

Loring  listened,  with  due  sympathy,  to  the 
tale,  the  while  he  eyed  with  hopeful  glances  the 
coffee-pot,  at  the  edge  of  which  a  yellow  foam 
soon  appeared,  serving  as  signal  that  the  meal 
was  ready. 

"  Sorry  we  can't  give  you  flapjacks,"  remarked 
one  of  the  men,  as  he  lifted  the  bacon  off  the 
fire.  "  Pardner  here  makes  swell  ones,  but  we  're 
pretty  low  on  our  grub  outfit  now.  Hope  we 
can  get  work  at  Quentin.  Any  jobs  floating 
round  loose  there?" 

Stephen  slowly  filled  his  tin  cup  with  coffee, 


THE  UP  GRADE 

and  paused,  after  the  western  fashion,  to  blow 
into  it  a  spoonful  of  condensed  milk,  before  he 
answered. 

"I  am  not  sure,"  he  said,  "but  I  think  that 
there  is  a  vacancy  on  one  of  the  hoists.  I  think 
they  fired  a  man  there  recently." 

"That's  good  for  us,"  exclaimed  one  of  the 
men.  "Wish  they  'd  fire  some  more  !"  Stephen 
did  not  continue  the  discussion. 

After  a  quiet  smoke  beside  the  embers  of  the 
fire,  Stephen  rose,  and  thanking  his  hosts 
warmly,  prepared  to  leave.  As  he  was  mounting 
he  happened  to  feel  a  flask  that  was  in  his  pocket. 
He  remembered  vaguely  having  filled  it  the  night 
before.  Reaching  down  from  the  saddle  he  held 
out  the  flask. 

"Have  a  drink,  gentlemen?"   he  asked. 

7    O 

One  of  the  men  took  the  flask  in  his  hands, 
almost  reverently. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  won't,"  he  said.  He 
took  a  long  pull,  then  handed  the  flask  to  his 
partner. 

"  Regards  !  "  drawled  the  latter. 

The  words  brought  to  Loring  a  bitter  train  of 
memories. 

"  Keep  the  damned  stuff  if  yflu  want  it.  I 
157 


THE  UP  GRADE 

am  through  with  it,"  he  said.  Then,  with  a 
quick  good  night,  he  rode  off. 

The  men,  in  mild  wonder,  looked  after  him 
for  a  moment.  Then  they  relighted  their  pipes, 
and  settled  themselves  by  the  fire. 

"Mighty  nice  chap,  that,"  remarked  one, 
"but  he  must  feel  powerful  bad  about  some- 
thing to  give  away  good  whisky  like  that." 

It  was  nearly  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening 
when  Stephen  rode  into  Dominion.  The  main 
street  was  brightly  lighted,  and  as  it  was  Satur- 
day night,  the  sidewalks  were  crowded  with 
people  walking  restlessly  up  and  down.  The 
shop  windows  glowed  attractively.  Through 
several  open  doors  he  could  see  men  gathered 
about  pool  tables.  The  bright  lights  by  the 
cinematograph  theater  showed  clearly  the  faces 
of  the  passing  crowd. 

Dominion  had  passed  from  the  camp  into  the 
town  stage,  as  was  evinced  by  the  liberal  scat- 
tering of  brick  houses  among  those  of  wooden 
construction.  Many  horsemen  were  passing  in 
the  street.  Fresh  from  the  hills,  Loring  felt 
almost  dazed  by  this  renewed  contact  with  es- 
tablished humanity. 

His  first  care  was  to  seek  a  stable  for  "Muy 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Bueno."  Seeing  in  one  of  the  side  streets  a 
livery  sign,  he  entered  the  place  and  tied  his 
pony  among  the  long  line  of  horses  in  the  shed. 
Then,  after  saying  to  the  proprietor :  "  Hay  and 
not  oats,"  he  walked  out  into  the  street. 

"I  hope  the  confounded  expensive  little  beast 
won't  order  champagne  for  himself,"  he  thought. 
"He  is  almost  clever  enough  to  do  so." 

As  he  walked  slowly  along,  he  mentally  cal- 
culated his  resources.  Three  dollars  in  cash. 
Nothing  in  credit.  A  few  cents  Mexican  in 
prospect.  He  would  have  to  sell  the  pony  and 
saddle  to  complete  the  payment  of  his  poker  debt. 

A  group  of  men,  thoroughly  drunk,  passed  by, 
singing  noisily.  Idly,  Stephen  followed  after 
them,  until  they  came  to  the  little  creek  that  runs 
through  the  center  of  the  town.  Across  the  creek, 
high  above  the  dark,  silent  water,  lay  a  narrow 
swinging  bridge.  One  of  the  group  of  men 
called  out:  "Let 's  go  across  the  bridge  of  sighs 
to  Mowrie's."  The  others  noisily  assented  and 
soon  Loring  could  hear  the  bridge  ahead  of  him 
creaking  beneath  their  weight.  He  stood  for  a 
moment,  hesitating,  staring  at  the  lights  across 
the  bridge,  then  he  deliberately  followed. 

The  opposite  shore  of  the  creek  was  lined 
159 


THE  UP  GRADE 

with  "cribs"  and  shanties  stretched  in  a  long, 
sodden  row  along  the  bank.  From  many  of 
them  came  the  brazen  notes  of  gramophones 
in  a  jarring  discord  of  popular  tunes.  Women's 
voices  were  mixed  with  the  music,  in  shrill  un- 
pleasant laughter.  A  board  walk  ran  before  the 
close  built  houses,  and  up  and  down  this  tramped 
throngs  of  men,  talking  noisily,  singing,  swear- 
ing. The  faces  of  some  group  or  other  were  now 
and  then  visible,  as  some  one  scratched  a  match 
to  light  a  cigarette. 

Women  of  almost  every  nationality  on  the 
globe  stood  in  the  doorways,  French,  Japa- 
nese, Negroes,  Swedes,  all  dressed  in  flaunting 
kimonas.  They  called  to  the  men  in  the  crowd, 
exchanged  jests,  or  leaned  idly  against  the 
door-posts,  staring  fixedly  into  the  faces  of  the 
men.  From  many  of  the  places  a  bright  light 
streamed  out  across  the  water.  The  shutters  of 
several  were  drawn. 

In  strange  contrast  to  the  scene,  in  one  of  the 
houses  some  one  was  singing  in  a  clear  tenor 
voice,  which  sounded  as  sweet  and  pure  as  if  it 
had  been  in  a  choir.  For  a  moment  the  murmur 
of  voices  and  tramp  of  feet  ceased,  as  people 
paused  to  listen. 

160 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Stephen  walked  slowly  down  the  street.  A 
woman  in  one  of  the  darker  doorways  called  out 
to  him.  He  stopped,  bit  his  lip  hard. 

"Why  not?  What  is  the  use,  now?"  he 
thought. 

He  ran  up  the  steps  and  opened  the  door.  In- 
side, half  a  dozen  painted  women  were  drinking 
with  the  men  there.  The  proprietress  beckoned 
to  him  to  enter. 

Then  like  a  veil,  before  his  eyes  dropped  a 
cloud  of  memory.  He  saw  the  shed  at  the 
hoist,  two  bodies  laid  limply  on  the  ground; 
figures  moving  in  dim  lantern  light. 

He  staggered  out  into  the  street,  drew  a  deep 
breath  and  strode  back  across  the  bridge. 

"I  am  through  with  this  sort  of  thing  for 
good,"  he  muttered.  "I  owe  the  world  too  big 
a  debt  of  reparation  now.  But  I  will  pay  it." 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life,  Loring's  smile 
was  a  smile  of  power,  that  power  which  rises 
sometimes  from  a  supreme  sorrow,  sometimes 
from  supreme  holiness,  sometimes,  as  now, 
springing  from  the  black  soil  of  crime;  but 
bespeaking  the  discipline  which  has  learned  to 
control  passion,  to  bring  desire  to  heel,  and  to 
make  a  man  master  of  himself  despite  all  the 
11  161 


THE  UP  GRADE 

devils   that  this  world  or   the  next  can   send 
against  him. 

He  had  learned  his  lesson  at  last,  learned  it 
at  the  cost  of  two  lost  lives,  and  the  cost  to  him- 
self of  an  overshadowing  remorse  which  he 
could  never  escape,  let  the  future  hold  what  it 
would.  But  he  had  learned  it. 


162 


CHAPTER  X 

ATER  three  days  of  fruitless  search  for 
work,  Stephen's  outlook  upon  life  grew 
very    gloomy.      Dominion    was    over- 
supplied  with  laborers.     In  looking  backward, 
Stephen  felt  that  he  had  applied  for  every  sort 
of  position  from  bank  president  to  day  laborer, 
but  everywhere  the  answer  had  been  the  same: 
"Sorry,  but  we  have  nothing  for  you.    We  are 
even  turning  off  our  old  workmen." 

In  the  West,  in  time  of  prosperity,  positions 
and  opportunities  of  every  sort  go  begging. 
In  time  of  depression  there  is  no  harder  place 
in  which  to  get  work. 

To  make  matters  worse,  Stephen  from  prin- 
ciple had  always  refused  to  affiliate  himself  with 
one  of  the  labor  organizations,  and  in  Dominion 
the  power  of  the  Union  is  paramount.  Once  he 
had  almost  persuaded  the  foreman  at  one  of 
the  smelters  to  put  him  on  the  rolls ;  but  when 
the  fact  had  appeared  that  he  was  a  non-Union 
man  the  official  had  changed  his  mind. 

163 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"I  can't  risk  it.  It  is  all  wrong;  but  if  I  was 
to  hire  you  to-day,  why  to-morrow  I  would  n't 
have  three  men  working."  This  had  been  his 
final  answer. 

Shortly  after  this  experience,  Loring  had 
been  approached  by  a  delegate  who  had  tried 
to  persuade  him  to  join  the  Miners'  Union. 
The  delegate  had  enumerated  the  advantages, 
and  they  were  many,  —  a  sick  benefit  of  ten 
dollars  a  week,  friends  wherever  he  should  go, 
work  at  high  wages,  and  a  seventy-five  dollar 
funeral  when  he  died.  The  delegate  had  asked 
Stephen  if  it  were  fair  that- when  the  Union,  by 
concerted  action,  had  brought  about  the  prevail- 
ing high  scale  of  wages,  outsiders  should  both 
share  the  advantage,  and  yet  weaken  the  Union 
position  by  working  contrary  to  the  fixed  scale. 
At  the  end,  as  a  peroration,  the  man  had  cited 
the  possibilities  of  crushing  capital  at  the  polls, 
arguing  with  the  general  point  of  view  of  such 
men,  that  the  chief  aim  of  capital  was  to  crush 
lab^r. 

"You  needn't  pay  your  dues  until  you  get 
your  first  month's  wages,"  he  had  concluded. 

Stephen  had  begun  to  feel  that  perhaps  his 
anti-Union  convictions  had  been  prejudiced,  for 
164 


THE  UP  GRADE 

the  man  had  clearly  shown  many  good  argu- 
ments. Then  the  delegate,  seeing  that  Stephen 
was  weakening,  had  thought  to  clinch  the 
matter.  Changing  his  manner,  he  had  shaken 
his  finger  in  Loring's  face  and  said :  "  If  you 
don't  join  the  Union,  we  '11  see  to  it  that  you 
don't  get  a  job  in  the  territory.  We  '11  send  your 
picture  to  every  camp  in  Arizona,  and  life  will 
be  hell  for  you.  There  was  a  man  only  last  week 
who  would  n't  join.  He  is  in  the  hospital  now, 
and,  by  Gawd,  he  will  stay  there  for  a  while." 

"That  settles  it,"  Loring  had  answered. 

The  man  had  become  all  smiles  again. 

"I  thought  you  would  see  it  that  way,"  he 
had  rejoined. 

"I  think  that  you  misunderstand  me,"  had 
been  Stephen's  reply.  "I  would  not  join  your 
Union  if  you  hired  me  to  do  so.  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  the  Miners'  Union  here  is  not  a  true 
labor  union.  It  is  a  thugs'  Union,  and  the 
sooner  all  honest  workingmen  find  it  out,  the 
better  for  the  cause  of  Unionism  throughout 
the  country." 

The  scuffle  that  had  ensued  had  resulted  in 
Loring's  favor,  but  it  had  not  helped  him  to 
find  work. 

165 


THE  UP  GRADE 

One  morning,  rather  from  want  of  occupa- 
tion than  from  any  definite  expectations, 
Stephen  took  his  place  in  the  post-office  at  the 
general  delivery  window.  He  was  greatly  sur- 
prised when,  in  answer  to  his  inquiry,  the  clerk 
slipped  a  letter  through  the  grating.  It  bore 
the  Quentin  postmark;  but  the  writing  was 
unfamiliar.  Stephen  walked  across  the  room, 
and  leaning  in  the  doorway  opened  the  letter 
with  curiosity.  It  was  from  Mr.  Cameron,  and 
ran  in  this  fashion: 

««  QUENTIN,  September  aoth. 
"STEPHEN  LORING. 

"DEAR  SIR:  I  suppose  that  you  realize  how  final  your 
actions  here  must  be  in  regard  to  any  trust  being  placed 
in  you.  I  shall  say  no  more  upon  the  subject.  The  fact 
remains  that  unfortunately  I  am  in  your  debt." 

Stephen  read  this  sentence  over  several  times 
before  continuing: 

' '  I  feel  bound  to  make  one  more  effort  to  repay  you, 
which  must  be  regarded  as  final.  I  have  interests  in  sev- 
eral companies  in  Montana,  and  I  will  offer  you  a  position 
with  one  of  them,  on  the  understanding  that  you  will 
never  come  into  my  way  again  or  — " 

here  several  words  were  scratched  out 

"  You  must  realize  how  unpleasant  it  is  for  my  daughter 
to  be  under  any  obligation  to  a  man,  who,  to  put  the 

1 66 


THE  UP  GRADE 

matter  plainly,  is  a  worthless  drunkard.  In  offering  this 
position  to  you,  I  may  as  well  say  that  this  is  the  only 
motive  which  actuates  me.  The  position  is  one  in  which 
no  responsibility  is  involved,  being  merely  clerical.  The 
pay  would  be  sufficient  to  maintain  you  as  long  as  you 
remain  steady.  The  condition  I  impose  would  be 
absolute. 

"  Yours  truly, 

"  DONALD  H.  CAMERON." 

Stephen  noticed  with  interest  the  character 
of  the  signature. 

"I  don't  believe  that  man  ever  failed  at  any- 
thing," he  thought.  "There  is  only  one  thing 
that  he  never  learned,  and  that  is  how  to  deal 
with  a  failure." 

It  was  the  noon  hour,  and  the  various  whistles 
told  of  lunch,  for  some.  Stephen  read  the  letter 
over  and  over. 

"Why  not  accept  the  offer?"  he  questioned. 
Mr.  Cameron  could  certainly  feel  no  more  dis- 
respect for  him  than  he  did  now,  and  the 
blatant  fact  that  he  was  hungry  and  without 
work  forced  itself  upon  his  attention. 

"It  means  another  chance,"  he  muttered, 
and  now  that  he  was  sure  of  himself,  he  knew 
that  a  chance  meant  success.  He  thrust  the 
letter  into  his  pocket. 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Hang  it,  I'll  take  him  up,"  he  thought. 
"I  have  been  everything  else;  I  may  as  well  be 
a  grafter." 

As  he  slid  his  hand  out  of  his  coat  pocket, 
he  felt  another  envelope.  He  pulled  it  out,  and 
looked  longingly  at  it.  It  was  Jean's  note. 
He  hesitated,  then  tore  it  open. 

"I  need  it  now,  if  ever  I  shall,"  he  said  to 
himself.  There  was  only  a  line,  signed  with 
Jean's  initials. 

"  I  still  believe  in  you." 

Stephen  read  it  with  bowed  head.  His 
shoulders  shook.  The  paper  danced  up  and 
down  before  his  eyes.  Over  and  over  he  read 
the  note.  Unconsciously  he  stretched  out  his 
hand,  as  if  to  press  in  gratitude  and  devotion 
the  hand  of  some  one  before  him.  At  length, 
with  a  start,  he  came  to  himself.  He  returned  the 
note  to  his  pocket,  and  in  a  determined  fashion 
walked  up  to  a  man  who  was  standing  near  him. 

"I  would  like  to  borrow  two  cents  for  a 
stamp,"  he  said. 

The  stranger  roared  with  laughter. 

"Well,  you  are  broke !    Say,  friend,  I  '11  stake 
you  to  a  meal,  if  you  're  that  hard  up." 
1 68 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Stephen  shook  his  head:  "No,  thank  you. 
I  have  still  my  coat,  which  I  can  pawn;  but  I 
am  much  obliged  for  the  stamp." 

He  found  an  odd  envelope  lying  on  a  table. 
Going  over  to  the  desk,  he  addressed  this  to 
Mr.  Cameron.  Then  taking  from  the  waste 
basket  a  sheet  of  paper,  he  wrote  quickly  upon 
it  five  words : 

"  I  'm  damned  if  I  will." 

He  put  on  the  stamp  with  a  hard  pound  of 
his  fist,  and  threw  the  letter  into  the  mail-box. 
Then,  with  his  heart  beating  joyously,  he 
walked  out  of  the  post-office.  Inside  his  coat 
a  note  lay  warm  against  his  heart. 

On  the  corner  stood  a  pawnbroker's  shop. 
The  brightness  of  the  gilding  upon  the  three 
balls  showed  that  it  was  a  successful  one.  The 
place  was  crowded  with  men  who  were  dis- 
posing of  everything  that  duty,  a  mild  sense  of 
decency,  or  necessity  did  not  for  the  moment 
require.  Loring  entered  the  shop,  and  elbow- 
ing his  way  to  the  desk,  laid  down  his  coat. 
The  proprietor  picked  it  up,  prodded  the  cloth 
with  his  thumb-nail,  shook  his  head  over  the 
worn  lining,  then  said : 

169 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Two  bits  on  that." 

Stephen  silently  took  the  proffered  quarter, 
and  went  out. 

"That  means  one  meal,  anyhow,"  he  thought. 

A  gaudy  sign  attracted  his  attention: 
"Chinese-American  Restaurant"  —  "All  you 
can  eat  for  two  bits." 

"I  think  that  they  do  not  lose  much  on  their 
sign,"  he  reflected  when,  a  few  minutes  later, 
seated  at  a  counter,  he  gnawed  at  some  bread 
and  stew,  and  drank  bitter  coffee.  "Any  man 
who  ate  more  than  a  quarter's  worth  would 
die." 

Having  eaten,  he  sauntered  over  to  the 
cashier's  window  and  nonchalantly  slid  his 
quarter  across  the  counter.  Then  no  longer 
a  capitalist,  but  also  no  longer  hungry,  he 
stepped  out  into  the  street  again.  He  looked 
to  right  and  left  wondering  in  what  direction 
to  turn  his  footsteps.  The  sight  of  a  crowd  in 
front  of  the  post-office  determined  him.  He 
questioned  a  man  on  the  outskirts  of  the  group, 
and  found  that  the  excitement  was  caused  by 
a  telegram,  the  contents  of  which  was  posted 
in  the  window.  Working  his  way  through  the 
crowd,  Loring  reached  a  position  whence  he 
170 


THE  UP  GRADE 

could  make  out  the  notice.  The  telegram  was 
from  the  governor  of  Sonora,  the  Mexican 
province  which  lay  just  across  the  line  from 
Dominion. 

"  Outbreak  of  Yaquis.  No  troops  near.  Would  deeply 
appreciate  help  from  Dominion." 

The  crowd  was  laughing  and  cheering. 

"Me  for  Old  Mexico!"  called  one. 

"  Perhaps  we  '11  all  be  generals,"  shouted 
another. 

The  news  had  spread  like  wild-fire,  and  from 
every  direction  appeared  groups  of  men,  armed 
with  Winchesters,  shotguns,  or  Colts.  All  were 
rushing  toward  the  Southern  Pacific  station. 
Stephen  hurried  up  the  street  to  a  gun  store, 
and  by  dint  of  hard  persuasion  obtained  from 
the  proprietor  an  old  Spencer  forty-five  calibre, 
single  shot  carbine. 

"It  will  at  least  make  a  noise,"  thought 
Loring.  He  joined  a  group  of  men  who  were 
on  their  way  to  the  train. 

"  I  might  as  well  go  to  Mexico  as  anywhere," 
he  reflected.  "  My  responsibilities  are  not  heavy 
just  at  present." 

Within  half  an  hour  after  the  receipt  of  the 


THE  UP  GRADE 

telegram  in  Dominion,  three  hundred  men,  all 
armed  to  the  teeth,  were  at  the  station.  For  in 
a  region  where  the  sheriff's  posse  is  one  of  the 
regular  forms  of  entertainment,  there  are  many 
men  who  joyously  start  upon  an  expedition  of 
this  kind. 

A  cheer  arose  from  the  crowd  when  Harry 
Benson,  at  one  time  the  captain  of  the  "Arizona 
Rangers,"  appeared  upon  the  scene,  clearing 
a  way  for  himself  by  the  adept  fashion  in  which 
he  spat  tobacco  juice. 

"Going  along,  Harry?  Good  boy,"  some 
one  called.  "You  ought  to  have  brought  all 
the  Rangers  with  you." 

"See  here,"  answered  Benson,  "this  ain't  in 
no  wise  official  business.  This  is  sort  of  a 
pleasure  excursion."  There  was  a  howl  of 
laughter  at  this,  then  as  the  engine  whistle 
blew  sharply,  all  scampered  for  places  in  the 
"special"  which  the  railway  company  had 
provided. 

A  man  who  was  on  the  front  platform  of  one 
of  the  cars  began  to  sing  a  song  —  a  very  popular 
song,  of  which  the  verse  and  chorus  were  un- 
printable, but  very  singable.  With  men  hang- 
ing out  of  the  windows,  standing  on  the  roofs 
172 


THE  UP  GRADE 

of  the  cars,  and  with  platforms  and  steps 
jammed,  the  train  pulled  out  of  the  station, 
headed  for  the  Mexican  Line,  only  fifteen  miles 
away. 

Half  an  hour  brought  them  to  the  border. 
Here  were  waiting  the  governor  of  Sonora  and 
many  Mexicans,  who  cheered  excitedly  as  the 
train  drew  into  the  station.  Benson,  by  unan- 
imous consent,  was  acting  as  director-general 
of  warfare.  As  the  train  slowed  down,  he 
jumped  to  the  platform.  A  Mexican  official 
resplendent  in  uniform  and  gold  braid,  in  strange 
contrast  to  the  motley  throng  following  at  Ben- 
son's heels,  stepped  forward  to  greet  him. 
Benson  sang  out  cheerfully:  "Hello,  here  we 
are ;  what  is  there  for  us  to  do  ?  " 

While  the  official  was  explaining  the  situa- 
tion, he  looked  a  bit  anxiously  at  the  crowd, 
hoping  that  when  the  trouble  was  over,  they 
would  all  depart  from  the  province  of  Sonora 
with  the  same  celerity  with  which  they  had  come. 
It  certainly  was  a  hard-looking  aggregation. 

The  Governor  talked  earnestly  with  Benson, 

speaking  excellent  English.     "I  do  not  know 

what  to  do.     According  to  the  laws,  no  armed 

force  can  enter  our  territory.     It  is  a  bad  prece- 

'73 


THE  UP  GRADE 

dent.  And  yet  we  need  help.  There  are  no 
troops  near  Los  Andes  where  the  raiders  are 
feared.  Yet  the  laws  are  very  strict,  and  as  an 
officer  of  the  law  I  must  not  let  them  be  broken. 
The  law  says  plainly:  'No  armed  force.'  What 
shall  I  do  ?  "  The  Governor  was  in  despair  over 
the  situation. 

Benson  saved  the  day. 

"Look  here,  Gov,"  he  said.  "I  used  to  be  an 
officer  of  the  law  myself.  A  man  must  conform 
strictly  to  the  laws;  I  know  all  about  it.  But," 
he  added,  with  a  wink,  "we're  here,  just  sort 
of  a  disorganized  party  as  happened  to  meet  on 
the  train.  We  was  all  going  hunting  near  Los 
Andes,  arid  we  sort  of  came  over  without 
formalities." 

The  Governor's  face  beamed  with  happiness 
at  this  solution. 

"It  is  magnifico!  And  as  the  custom-house 
cannot  appraise  so  many  weapons  at  once,  you 
are  permitted  to  carry  them,  gentlemen.  In 
bond,  of  course,  in  bond,"  he  added  hastily. 

"Yesterday  we  had  news  from  the  hills  that 

the   Yaquis   were   raiding   again,"   he   said   to 

Benson.      "Two   prospectors   were  killed,   not 

fifty  miles  from  Los  Andes.     A  bridge  on  the 

174 


main  line  is  down.    The  troops  cannot  be  there 
for  twenty-four  hours." 

Benson  nodded  comprehendingly.  "Same 
old  trouble,  ain't  it  ?  I  wonder  these  Yaquis 
would  n't  get  tired.  We  '11  fix  them  up  good 
for  you  if  they  come." 

These  formalities  of  international  law  having 
been  settled,  all  again  boarded  the  train,  and 
a  slow  hour's  run  toward  the  west  brought 
them  to  Los  Andes. 

The  inhabitants  of  this  sleepy  little  town  of 
Old  Mexico  thronged  about  the  station  and  wel- 
comed their  prospective  rescuers  with  enthu- 
siasm. Loud  cries  of  "  Vivan  Los  Americanos!  " 
echoed  from  end  to  end  of  the  platform,  as  the 
men  swarmed  out  of  the  train. 

Soon  the  men  were  assigned  to  quarters  in 
the  various  houses  and  shops.  The  plaza  be- 
fore the  cathedral  in  the  center  of  the  town 
became,  for  probably  the  first  time  in  its  exist- 
ence, a  scene  of  activity. 

As  Benson  was  completing  the  disposition 
of  his  men,  a  Mexican  ranch  owner  rode  up  to 
him. 

"The  Senor  is  the  comandante  ?"  he  asked  in 
broken  English. 

175 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Sure,  Mike,  Seguro  Miguel  —  Fire  away!" 
answered  Benson. 

The  ranchman  looked  puzzled,  then  com- 
menced to  explain  his  errand.  His  ranch,  it 
appeared,  was  situated  some  twenty  miles  out- 
side the  town,  in  the  direction  from  which  the 
Yaquis  were  expected,  and  his  ranchmen  were 
all  absent  upon  the  range.  He  asked  for  five 
or  six  men  to  defend  his  hacienda. 

Benson  waved  his  hand  airily,  in  feeble 
imitation  of  the  Mexican's  grand  manner: 
l"Sta  'ueno,  you  shall  have  them." 

Turning,  he  saw  Loring,  who  had  been  listen- 
ing to  the  talk.  Benson  was  accustomed  to 
judging  men  quickly,  and  he  was  rarely  deceived. 
A  quick  survey  of  Loring's  face  satisfied  him. 

"He  is  no  quitter,  anyhow,"  he  thought, 
"and  at  present  his  moral  character  don't 
matter."  He  called  to  Loring:  "Say,  you  Mr. 
What  's-your-name,  you  get  four  other  men  and 
go  with  this  chap  to  his  ranch ! " 

"Have  you  caballos  for  them  here  ?"  Benson 
asked  the  ranchman. 

"Si,  si,  I  can  procure  them  at  once,"  exclaimed 
Senor  Hernandez.  "And  my  gratitude,  it  is 
eternal." 

176 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Never  mind  that,"  said  Benson,  turning 
away. 

A  very  short  while  sufficed  for  Stephen  to 
find  four  volunteers  to  accompany  them,  and 
within  an  hour  the  little  party  was  riding  out 
of  the  town  to  the  southward,  where  lay  the 
ranch  and  the  threatened  pass.  The  country 
was  desolation  itself,  rocky  ground  covered 
with  layers  of  dust  and  sand.  All  was  gray  in 
color.  The  little  clusters  of  sage-brush,  all  dried 
and  lifeless  in  the  heat,  made  no  change  in  the 
gray  hue.  The  road  was  merely  a  track  across 
the  desert,  beaten  by  chance  horsemen  or  cattle. 
Along  this  the  horses  scuffled,  sending  up  clouds 
of  alkali  dust  into  the  air  for  the  benefit  of  the 
riders  who  were  behind. 

Stephen  rode  beside  Senor  Hernandez,  speak- 
ing only  in  short  sentences,  to  answer  or  ask 
some  question.  The  leather  of  the  saddles,  be- 
neath the  sun,  was  burning  hot. 

After  four  hours  of  riding,  just  as  the  sun  was 
beginning  to  drop  behind  the  foothills,  they 
saw  before  them  in  the  desert  a  large  patch  of 
green,  as  vivid  as  if  painted  upon  the  ground, 
fresh  and  succulent,  amidst  the  desolation  of 
the  plain. 

177 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"  My  alfalfa  crop ! "  exclaimed  the  Senor, 
pointing  with  pride.  "We  have  irrigated.  Much 
water.  Big  crop.  He  aqui  la  casa  —  there, 
behind  the  alfalfa." 

Stephen  saw  rise,  as  if  by  magic,  a  long  one- 
story  structure  of  adobe,  so  much  the  color  of 
the  earth  as  to  have  been  till  now  almost  indis- 
tinguishable. Beside  the  house  was  a  large 
brush  corral.  So  perfectly  was  all  blended  with 
the  landscape,  that  not  until  they  were  very  near 
did  Loring  appreciate  the  great  size  of  the 
building. 

At  the  corral  they  dismounted  and  unsaddled. 

"  Better  carry  the  saddles  up  to  the  house ! " 
said  Loring  to  the  men,  who  had  hung  them 
over  the  corral  bars.  So,  carrying  their  guns  and 
saddles,  they  all  walked  up  to  the  house. 

Here  they  were  received  by  the  ranchman's 
wife,  a  striking  Spanish  beauty. 

"It  is  Senora  Hernandez,"  said  the  Mexican, 
with  justifiable  pride.  The  Senora  showed  the 
men  the  rooms  where  they  were  to  sleep. 
Stephen,  as  commander,  was  given  the  largest 
room. 

Pepita  was  very  well  pleased  with  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  defender  whom  her  husband 
I78 


THE  UP  GRADE 

had  selected,  for  in  spite  of  his  flannel  shirt 
and  dusty  boots,  Loring  was  not  bad  to  look 
upon. 

In  a  few  moments,  Stephen  re-entered  the 
main  room.  The  Senora  was  there,  leaning 
against  one  of  the  casements.  The  scarf  that 
was  thrown  over  her  head  added  to  her  charms, 
and  lent  a  subtlety  to  her  dark  beauty.  As 
Stephen  walked  across  the  room  toward  her, 
he  admired  her  greatly. 

"By  George!  She  is  a  beauty,"  he  ex- 
claimed under  his  breath.  Then  answered  a 
voice  within  him:  "Yes,  but  at  thirty,  she  will 
be  fat,  oh,  very  fat." 

As  the  Senora  turned  to  greet  him,  the  first 
voice  made  answer:  "Yes,  but  it  will  be  at 
least  twelve  years  before  she  is  thirty." 


179 


CHAPTER  XI 

WHILE  Stephen  was  talking  with  the 
Senora,  a  gong  in  an  inner  room 
clanged. 

"It  is  the  time  for  our  evening  meal,  Senor," 
she  said,  with  a  pretty  little  Spanish  accent. 
After  Loring  had  perjured  his  soul  by  swearing 
that  he  was  loath  to  change  his  occupation  for 
the  pleasure  of  eating,  she  smiled  at  him  mock- 
ingly, and  led  the  way  into  the  dining-room. 

The  Hernandez  ranch  was  the  largest  in  the 
Los  Andes  region,  and  the  house  was  furnished 
and  decorated  in  an  elaborate  manner.  The 
walls  of  the  dining-room  were  hung  with  gay 
pictures,  and  the  table,  set  for  supper,  boasted 
several  pieces  of  silver. 

Senor  Hernandez  presided  at  the  table  with 
true  Latin  hospitality,  and  Stephen,  his  pre- 
vious protestations  to  the  contrary  notwith- 
standing, did  full  justice  to  the  excellent  fare, 
at  the  same  time  keeping  up  a  lively  conversa- 
tion with  the  Senora.  The  men  with  him  ate 
vigorously,  the  only  break  in  their  steady  eating 
1 80 


THE  UP  GRADE 

being  caused  by  glances  at  the  pretty  Mexican 
girl  who  served  the  meal. 

After  supper,  Stephen  and  the  Sefior  went 
outside,  and  walked  about  the  ranch,  studying 
the  possibilities  of  defense  in  case  of  trouble. 
At  Stephen's  suggestion,  they  led  the  horses 
from  the  corral,  and  picketed  them  behind  the 
house,  as  the  first  thought  of  any  marauders 
would  undoubtedly  be  to  raid  the  corral. 

Like  most  adobe  houses,  the  ranch  house 
consisted  of  a  main  building,  with  two  wings 
running  at  right  angles,  thus  enclosing  three 
sides  of  a  court.  All  the  windows  of  the  ground 
floor  had  iron  shutters,  fastening  on  the  inside. 
The  ground  about  the  building  was  as  flat  as 
a  board,  and  was  broken  only  by  the  lines  of 
the  irrigation  ditches  which  ran  amidst  the 
alfalfa  fields. 

"If  we  station  a  man  to  watch  upon  the  roof," 
said  Stephen,  as  they  returned  to  the  house, 
"it  will  be  all  the  precaution  that  we  need  to 
take.  On  a  clear  night  such  as  this,  a  man  can 
see  far  in  every  direction." 

"It  will  be  well,"  answered  the  Senor.  "And 
this  door  here,  it  is  a  heavy  one.  It  will  be 
hard  to  break  down." 

181 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"I  don't  believe  that  it  will  come  to  that," 
laughed  Stephen.  "I  don't  believe  that  we  shall 
have  any  trouble  at  all." 

"I  pray  not,"  answered  Senor  Hernandez. 
His  was  not  a  nature  which  was  exhilarated  by 
prospective  danger. 

When  they  re-entered  the  main  room,  Stephen 
glanced  quickly  from  the  Senora  to  her  husband. 

"It  is  strange,"  he  said  to  himself,  "how  a 
little  swarthy  man  like  that  could  have  won 
such  a  beauty  for  a  wife.  I  suppose,  though, 
that  if  she  really  loves  him,  she  does  not  care 
if  his  ears  are  a  bit  like  an  elephant's,  his  eyes 
too  close  together,  and  his  nose  as  thin  as  a 
razor."  The  husband  of  a  pretty  woman  is  not 
likely  to  have  his  charms  exaggerated  by  other 
men. 

They  spent  the  evening  smoking  and  talking. 
The  Senora  rolled  cigarettes  with  the  greatest 
deftness,  and  the  smile  with  which  she  ad- 
ministered the  final  little  pat  did  much  to  en- 
chance  the  taste  of  the  tobacco. 

At  ten  o'clock  the  Senora  rose,  and  after 
calling  the  servant  to  light  the  men  to  their 
rooms,  bade  them  good  night. 

It  had  been  agreed  that  Stephen  should  stand 
182 


THE  UP  GRADE 

the  first  watch.  He  insisted  that  the  Senor, 
tired  as  he  was  from  two  sleepless  nights  of 
worry,  should  not  share  his  vigil. 

Having  exchanged  his  carbine  for  one  of  his 
host's  Winchesters,  Loring  mounted  the  ladder 
that  ran  from  the  hallway  of  the  second  story 
to  the  roof.  It  was  a  perfect  night.  The 
heavens  were  glittering  with  stars,  and  all  was 
silent.  Not  a  breath  of  air  came  from  across 
the  desert  to  cool  the  copings,  which  were  still 
warm  from  the  day's  heat. 

Stephen  leaned  his  rifle  against  the  chimney, 
then  felt  in  his  pockets  for  a  little  sack  of  coarse 
"Ricorte"  which  some  one  in  the  town  had 
given  to  him.  He  filled  his  pipe  carefully,  pack- 
ing the  tobacco  down  with  his  forefinger,  till 
all  was  even;  then  striking  a  match,  he  held 
it  far  from  him,  until  the  blue  flame  of  the 
sulphur  burned  to  a  clear  yellow.  He  held  the 
match  to  his  pipe  until  the  bowl  glowed  in  an 
even  circle  of  fire,  and  the  smoke  drew  through 
the  stem  in  rich,  full  clouds.  Then,  picking 
up  his  rifle  again,  he  began  a  careful  lookout 
over  the  plain  towards  the  pass. 

A  fact  which  greatly  facilitates  the  building 
of  air  castles,  is  that,  unlike  most  buildings, 

183 


THE  UP  GRADE 

they  need  no  foundations.  The  castles  which 
Stephen  built  that  night,  as  he  paced  up  and 
down  the  roof,  biting  hard  on  his  pipe-stem, 
would  have  done  credit  to  a  very  good  school 
of  architecture.  The  general  design  may  be 
imagined  from  the  fact  that  time  and  time 
again  he  drew  from  his  pocket  a  little  crumpled 
envelope,  and  holding  it  close  to  the  glow  of 
his  pipe,  read  and  reread  it.  Once  he  carried 
it  to  his  lips,  and  with  a  feeling  almost  as  of 
sacrilege,  kissed  it.  Then  he  turned  sharply, 
for  on  the  roof  behind  him  he  heard  light  foot- 
steps and  the  tinkle  of  a  woman's  laughter. 

"Oh,  but  Senor  Loring  is  a  faithful  lover," 
exclaimed  Pepita,  stepping  toward  him. 

Even  in  the  darkness,  Stephen  felt  himself 
blushing  up  to  his  hair.  He  stammered,  then 
laughed  :  "  I  plead  guilty,  but  I  am  not  generally 
like  that." 

"It  does  no  harm,"  she  murmured  softly. 
"And  the  Senorita,  does  she  also  care  so 
much?" 

"Not  in  the  least,"  answered  Stephen.  "The 
Senorita  does  not  even  know  that  I  care." 

"Oh,  you  think  so?     Women  are  not  so - 
how  do  you  say  —  ?  so  blind,"   laughed   the 
184 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Senora.  "But  you  have  not  asked  me  why  I 
am  here,  Senor." 

"No,"  answered  Stephen  rather  bluntly. 
In  the  light  of  his  reveries  of  the  past  hour 
he  felt  rather  ashamed  of  the  little  flirtation 
that  he  had  carried  on  after  dinner  with  the 
Senora. 

"You  need  not  be  embarrassed,"  she  went 
on,  laughing  at  his  stiffness.  "It  was  not  to 
see  the  gallant  Senor  that  I  came,  though  no 
doubt  there  are  many  who  - 

Loring  silenced  her  with  an  imploring  gesture. 

"No,  I  came  to  see  if  all  were  well.  I  was 
afraid  that  I  heard  noises,"  she  confessed. 

"All  right,  so  far,"  said  Stephen.  "I  do  not 
think  that  we  shall  have  any  trouble." 

"Then  I  will  again  go  down,"  she  said. 

Stephen  walked  with  her  over  to  the  ladder, 
and  bowing  low  over  her  hand,  whispered  a 
low  "Buenas  noches!"  As  he  helped  her  to 
the  ladder,  he  looked  into  her  eyes  rather 
curiously.  He  ceuld  not  understand  their 
expression. 

When  she  had  her  foot  upon  the  uppermost 
rung,  she  said  good  night  to  him.  Then,  as  he 
turned,  she  said,  half  shyly:  "The  letter, 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Senor;   you  will  watch  the  carta  of  the  Senorita 
well?" 

Laughing  softly,  yet  not  altogether  gaily,  she 
ran  down  the  ladder. 

"My   husband,   he   is   good,"   she   reflected. 
"Ah,  very  good,  but  he  is  as  homely  as  a  - 
monkey." 

Wiping  two  little  tears  from  the  corners  of 
her  eyes,  she  stepped  quickly  back  into  her 
room. 

The  time  passed  very  slowly  for  Stephen. 
The  clock  in  the  courtyard  below  struck  two. 
His  rifle  barrel  began  to  feel  cold  in  his  ringers, 
as  he  fought  against  sleep.  The  night  had 
grown  thicker,  and  he  could  no  longer  see  far 
out  into  the  distance. 

"It  will  be  morning  soon,"  he  thought.  "I 
don't  believe  that  the  Yaquis  mean  business 
this  time." 

Even  as  he  spoke,  his  ear  caught  a  low  sound. 
Then  there  was  a  silence.  Doubtingly,  he 
leaned  far  out  over  the  wall,  and  listened  in- 
tently. Again  he  heard  the  sound;  again  it 
ceased.  Then  once  more  it  arose  and  became 
continuous,  —  very  soft,  but  insistent,  a  solid, 
dull,  irregular  thud,  as  of  many  hoofs  beating 
186 


THE  UP  GRADE 

upon  soft  ground.  The  blood  in  Stephen's  face 
boiled  with  quivering  excitement.  The  hoof- 
beats  came  nearer  and  nearer,  then  stopped. 
The  next  sound  that  he  heard  was  a  grating 
click  by  the  corral,  as  of  some  one  slipping  down 
the  bars.  He  thought  with  lightning  rapidity: 
"A  shot  will  be  the  best  way  to  awaken  the 
men." 

Almost  instantly  afterwards  he  saw  against 
the  gray-white  of  the  opposite  side  of  the  court 
a  shadow,  then  another  and  another.  Kneeling 
behind  the  coping,  he  covered  the  leader  with 
his  rifle. 

The  click  of  the  action  as  he  cocked  his  Win- 
chester sounded  to  him  preternaturally  loud. 
He  dropped  the  muzzle  of  his  rifle  a  fraction  of 
an  inch  until  the  first  shadow  drifted  across  the 
sights.  He  fired,  and  the  shadow  dropped. 
The  flash  of  his  rifle  was  answered  from  the 
dark  by  a  dozen  spurts  of  flame.  All  around 
him  the  bullets  whined,  or  clicked  against 
the  dry  adobe,  sending  great  chips  flying  in 
all  directions.  Three  times  Loring  fired, 
lying  with  the  butt  of  his  rifle  cuddled  close 
against  his  cheek.  Would  the  men  below 
never  hear! 


THE  UP  GRADE 

As  the  vague  shapes  rushed  across  the  court 
for  the  door  with  a  shrill  yell,  five  knife-like 
jets  of  flame  shot  from  the  windows,  and  the 
reports  echoed  staccato  in  answer  to  the  fusil- 
lade from  the  courtyard.  The  leaders  of  the 
Yaquis  had  almost  reached  the  shelter  of  the 
doorway,  but  the  angle  windows  fairly  spat  fire 
as  the  defenders  emptied  their  repeaters. 
Unable  to  face  the  withering  fire  the  raiders 
wavered,  then  fell  back  to  the  line  of  the  irri- 
gation ditches,  whence  they  sent  a  rain  of 
bullets  against  the  windows  of  the  houses.  The 
tinkle  of  breaking  glass  on  all  sides  was  mingled 
with  the  reports  of  the  rifles.  The  surprise  had 
been  complete  for  the  Yaquis,  as  they  had  ex- 
pected to  find  the  ranch  unprotected. 

As  soon  as  this  first  attack  was  repulsed, 
Stephen  ran  to  the  ladder  and  jumped  down 
to  join  the  others.  His  rifle  barrel  was  burning 
hot  from  the  rapidity  of  his  fire. 

He  found  the  men  all  gathered  in  one  room. 
It  was  a  strange  looking  group  which  the 
flashes  of  the  rifles  revealed  in  the  smoky  air, 
half  dressed,  kneeling  by  the  shutters,  shooting 
viciously  out  into  the  darkness,  at  the  blurred 
things  in  the  ditches.  A  bullet  whistled  by 
188 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Stephen's  ear  as  he  entered  the  room,  and  with 
a  dull  spat  buried  itself  in  the  plaster  behind 
him. 

"Easy  on  the  cartridges,  boys!"  he  called. 
"They  may  rush  again."  His  advice  was  well 
called  for,  as  in  their  excitement  the  men  were 
firing  wildly. 

"  It  is  lucky  that  there  are  no  windows  in  the 
back  of  the  house,"  he  exclaimed  to  Senor 
Hernandez. 

The  latter  was  engaged  in  trying  to  make 
himself  an  inconspicuous  target. 

There  was  the  sound  of  footsteps  at  the  door 
of  the  room  and  a  blinding  glare  of  light,  as 
Pepita  entered,  carrying  a  large  lamp.  Stephen 
snatched  it  from  her  and  hurled  it  out  the 
window  through  the  splintered  panes.  But  its 
work  had  been  done.  One  of  the  men  by  the 
window  sobbed,  staggered  to  his  feet,  and 
leaned  out  into  the  night,  shaking  his  fist  towards 
the  ditches.  Then  he  fell  face  downward  across 
the  ledge,  where  for  an  instant  he  was  silhouetted 
by  the  last  flicker  of  the  lamp  below.  Loring 
flung  himself  upon  him  and  dragged  him  back 
into  the  room,  but  not  before  the  body  was 
riddled  with  bullets.  Stephen  felt  the  sting  of 
189 


THE  UP  GRADE 

several  as  they  grazed  his  clothes,  by  some 
miracle  leaving  him  unhurt. 

" Dios!"  gasped  the  woman. 

"  Lie  down ! "  shouted  Loring,  forcing  her 
to  the  floor.  Then  he  took  the  dead  man's 
place  by  the  shutter,  and  began  to  fire 
methodically. 

Encouraged  by  their  success,  the  Yaquis 
again  swarmed  forward.  The  whiplike  crack 
of  five  Winchesters  checked  them  before  they 
were  within  the  courtyard. 

The  black  of  the  night  began  to  turn  to  gray- 
blue  with  the  hint  of  dawn.  The  figures  in  the 
ditches  stirred,  and  as  they  began  to  run  for 
their  ponies,  the  defenders  fired  into  them  with 
telling  effect.  Then,  in  contrast  to  the  previous 
rattle  of  shots,  came  the  sound  of  the  hoofs  of 
a  hundred  ponies,  scampering  back  up  the 
trail. 

"All  over!"  called  out  Stephen.  Rising 
from  his  knees,  he  leaned  out  of  the  casement, 
and  sent  one  more  shot  towards  the  flying 
Yaquis.  It  brought  no  response. 

They  carried  Haskins,  the  man  who  had 
been  shot,  into  the  next  room,  and  laid  him  on 
the  bed.  He  was  quite  dead.  The  Seiiora 
190 


THE  UP  GRADE 

followed,  sobbing.  Wildly  she  turned  to  Stephen 
as  he  tried  to  comfort  her. 

"You,  Senor  —  you  do  not  know  what  it  is 
to  kill,  by  madness,  by  folly." 

"  Not  know  ?  —  I  —  not  know  ? "  Stephen 
smiled  a  smile  that  was  not  good  to  see,  as  he 
broke  off. 

"Good  God!"  he  thought,  "had  it  left  no 
trace  on  him,  that  haunting  vision  of  two  corpses 
flung  twisted  and  out  of  shape  on  the  wreckage 
of  timber,  those  two  things  that  had  been  men 
sent  out  of  life  by  his  guilty  hand  ?  Had  it 
not  lived  with  him  by  night  and  refused  to  be 
put  aside  by  day  ?  Had  they  not  risen  up  in  the 
dark  hours  and  called  him  by  a  name  from  which 
he  shrank  like  a  blow,  and  now  this  woman 
told  him  he  could  not  know  what  it  meant  to 
kill  a  man !  " 

He  put  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  bowed  his 
head,  and  walked  slowly  back  into  the  other 
room. 

The  light  breaking  fast  in  the  eastern  sky, 
showed  a  disheveled  scene.  Mattresses  were 
scattered  on  the  floor,  the  bedding  was  thrown 
about  the  room,  all  of  the  windows  were  smashed. 
By  each  casement  was  a  pile  of  empty  brass 
191 


THE  UP  GRADE 

cartridge  shells.  By  one  window  was  a  mess  of 
something  red.  The  air  was  stale,  and  filled 
with  acid-tasting  powder  smoke. 

Loring  went  downstairs,  and  slipping  back 
the  bolts  on  the  heavy  door,  stepped  out  into  the 
cool  of  the  early  morning.  Outside  everything 
seemed  in  strange  order,  compared  with  the 
scene  that  he  had  left.  He  started  on  a  tour 
of  investigation  about  the  ranch.  The  ditches 
amidst  the  alfalfa  showed  no  trace  of  the  death- 
dealing  occupants  of  an  hour  before.  As  he 
walked  around  the  corner  of  an  outbuilding,  he 
stumbled  over  a  body  which  the  Yaquis  had 
overlooked  in  their  flight.  The  Indian's  stiff, 
square  shoes  lay  with  their  toes  unbending  in 
the  dust.  The  blue  denim  of  the  overalls  and 
the  buckle  of  the  suspenders  showed  the  trade- 
mark of  a  Chicago  firm !  A  bullet  hole  was 
clean  through  the  middle  of  the  swarthy, 
bronze-colored  forehead.  Even  through  the 
rough  clothing,  the  flat,  rangey  build  of  the 
man  was  evident.  The  hair,  falling  forward  in 
the  dust,  was  coarse  and  black. 

"Poor  devil!"  thought  Stephen.  "He  has 
ridden  on  his  last  raid.'* 

He  walked  quietly  away  from  the  body,  and 
192 


THE  UP  GRADE 

went  back  to  the  house.  "Everything  is  all 
right,"  he  reported. 

Soon  the  stove  was  lighted,  and  coffee  boil- 
ing. The  men  were  laughing  and  telling  stories. 
The  Senor  strode  up  and  down,  twisting  his 
little  spikes  of  mustachios,  and  exclaiming 
upon  the  valor  of  the  defense. 

When  they  sat  down  to  breakfast,  there  was 
a  seat  too  many  at  the  table.  Loring  thought 
of  the  silent  form  in  the  room  above,  and  for 
a  moment  felt  weak.  Then,  shaking  off  his 
depression,  he  entered  into  the  general  hilarity. 
Time  after  time,  the  servant  passed  the  great 
platter  of  dry  tortillas.  The  big  cakes  tasted 
delicious  to  the  tired  men. 

As  they  finished  breakfast,  *the  sound  of  a 
bugle  call  sent  every  one  to  the  window.  Out- 
side was  a  troop  of  Mexican  cavalry,  hot  on 
the  trail  of  the  Yaquis.  Senor  Hernandez  in- 
vited the  officers  to  enter,  and  while  he  pressed 
whisky  upon  them,  gave  a  voluble  account  of 
the  fight.  He  spoke  in  such  rapid  Spanish  that 
Stephen  could  understand  little;  but  from  the 
frequent  sweeping  gestures,  he  judged  that  the 
story  lost  nothing  in  the  telling. 

The  officers  remained  but  a  short  while,  then 
13  193 


THE  UP  GRADE 

remounted,  and  rode  at  a  sharp  trot  towards 
the  hills. 

"I  wonder  that  the  government  does  not 
send  enough  troops  to  wipe  out  these  fellows. 
These  cavalry  will  only  drive  them  back  into  the 
hills,  and  in  a  few  months  they  will  again  swoop 
down  upon  the  outlying  towns  and  ranches, 
just  as  they  have  been  doing  for  the  past  ten 
years,"  thought  Stephen. 

After  breakfast,  Loring  prepared  to  return  to 
Los  Andes.  The  others  had  accepted  the  invita- 
tion of  Senor  Hernandez  to  stay  for  a  few  days 
as  his  guests.  A  spirit  of  restlessness  pervaded 
Stephen,  and  prevented  him  from  remaining. 

The  Senor  was  to  arrange  to  send  home 
Haskins's  body. 

"He  came  from  Trinidad,  he  always  said. 
Guess  he  had  folks  there,"  one  of  the  men  had 
volunteered. 

Just  as  Loring  was  mounting,  Pepita  ran 
forward,  and  whispered  something  to  him. 

He  shook  his  head  in  reply. 

"Try  and  see  !"   was  her  rejoinder. 

The  thought  which  she  had  put  into  his  head 
made  the  long  ride  back  to  Los  Andes  pass  very 
quickly. 

194 


THE  UP  GRADE 

The  town  had  resumed  its  normal  appear- 
ance. The  loafers  were  again  stretched  upon 
the  steps  of  the  little  stores  or  on  the  pavements. 
Those  who  were  not  rolling  cigarettes  were  com- 
fortably asleep. 

"Los  Americanos  vamos,"  was  the  answer  to 
Stephen's  inquiries. 

After  leaving  his  borrowed  horse  at  a  stable, 
he  wandered  idly  towards  the  plaza.  Now 
that  the  reaction  had  come,  he  felt  very  tired. 
Spying  a  bench  beneath  some  palm  trees,  he 
stretched  himself  upon  it,  and  in  the  security 
of  him  who  has  nothing,  dozed  peacefully. 

A  mosquito,  buzzing  vapidly  about  his  head, 
caused  him  to  exert  himself  to  the  extent  of  a 
few  useless  blows.  A  wagon,  rumbling  down 
the  street,  caused  him  to  look  up.  Then  after 
these  two  exhibitions  of  energy,  he  fell  soundly 
asleep. 


195 


CHAPTER  XII 

TOWARDS  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening 
Stephen  directed  his  steps  to  the  rail- 
road station,  and  seating  himself  on  a 
side-tracked  flat  car,  kicked  his  heels  over  the 
edge,  and  smoked  his  last  pipeful  of  tobacco. 
He  jangled  some  keys  in  his  pocket,  pretending 
to  himself  that  they  were  money.  It  was  bad 
enough,  he  reflected,  to  be  "broke"  in  the 
States,  where  he  could  talk  the  language;  but 
here  —  He  looked  disconsolately  at  the  throng 
of  Mexicans  who  were  on  the  platform.  "  Buenos 
dies,  and  que  hora  ?  although  I  am  sure  I  pro- 
nounce them  well,  will  not  take  me  very  far  in 
the  world,"  he  thought.  "It  does  not  matter 
much  where  I  go ;  but  I  certainly  must  go  some- 
where. I  will  board  the  first  freight  train  that 
appears,  whether  it  is  going  north,  south,  east 
or  west." 

Having  come  to  this  determination,  he  jumped 
down  from  the  car,  and  walking  over  to  the  bulle- 
tin board,  ran  his  finger  down  the  time-table. 
196 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Nine  o'clock  —  train  for  La  Punta.  Well, 
that 's  gone.  Hello  !  Here  we  are  —  eleven 
P.  M.  express  for  the  City  of  Mexico.  I  wonder 
what  that  asterisk  means.  Oh,  yes,  Pullmans 
only.  That  would  be  infinitely  more  pleasant 
than  the  brake-beams  of  a  freight,"  he  mused, 
"and  for  me  it  would  be  equally  cheap." 

Stephen  was  a  novice  at  the  art  of  "beating 
it,"  but  he  possessed  two  very  valuable  assets, 
a  keen  observation  and  a  vivid  imagination. 
Having  thus  resolved  to  travel  in  state,  he  re- 
turned to  his  flat  car,  and  set  about  planning 
ways  and  means.  A  few  minutes  of  solemn 
thought  gave  him  his  first  conclusion :  that  at 
this  time  of  year  the  southbound  trains  would 
not  be  running  full. 

"Therefore  there  will  be  many  vacant 
berths,"  he  thought. 

A  few  more  puffs  upon  his  pipe  gave  him  the 
next  link  in  his  plan.  "Whether  empty,  or 
full,  the  Pullman  company  has  all  the  berths 
down." 

Thought    number    three:     "At    night    they 

make  long  runs,  without  stopping.    Therefore," 

thought  Stephen,  "once  on  board,  and  safely 

tucked  in  an  upper  berth,  I  can  travel  until 

197 


THE  UP  GRADE 

morning  without  being  discovered  and  thrown 
off  the  train." 

"Now  comes  the  second  part  of  my  problem : 
how  to  get  on  the  train  and  into  my  berth  with- 
out being  discovered.'*  He  shut  his  eyes,  and 
visualized  a  train  standing  at  the  station. 
"Where  would  the  porters  stand?"  he  asked 
himself. 

He  thought  hard,  and  remembered  that  at 
night  the  porters  generally  stand  at  opposite 
ends  of  their  cars,  so  that  every  alternate  set 
of  steps  is  unguarded. 

"Now,"  he  reflected,  "  if  the  berths  are  down, 
the  curtains  will  be  drawn,  therefore  there 
will  be  little  light  from  the  car  windows,  to 
bring  me  into  prominence,  and  the  passengers 
will  probably  be  asleep.  All  will  go  well,  if 
the  vestibule  doors  are  not  locked.  But  gen- 
erally on  hot  nights  they  are  unlocked.  Anyhow, 
I  must  risk  it." 

As  he  mused  over  his  plan  giving  it  the  final 
touches,  the  express  for  the  City  of  Mexico 
thundered  into  the  station. 

With  a  grating  of  brakes,  and  a  squish  of 
steam,  the  heavy  train  sobbed  itself  to  a  stop, 
the  engine  dropping  from  the  fire-box  a  stream 
108 


THE  UP  GRADE 

of  glowing  coals  between  the  gleaming  steel 
rails,  and  blowing  forth  steam  from  the  exhaust. 

"  Here  's  my  train,"  thought  Loring.  "  It 
looks  very  comfortable." 

He  slipped  his  pipe  into  his  pocket,  and 
stepping  back  into  a  shadowy  corner,  awaited 
his  opportunity. 

From  the  platform  arose  an  irregular  murmur 
of  voices,  such  as  always  attends  the  arrival  of 
a  train  at  night.  That  murmur  which,  to  the 
passengers  lying  half  awake,  sounds  so  far  away, 
and  unreal !  He  heard  the  bang  and  thump  of 
trunks  being  thrown  out  of  the  baggage  car. 
A  party  of  tourists,  weighted  down  with  hand- 
luggage,  hurried  by  him.  Even  as  he  thought, 
the  white-jacketed  porters  stood  with  their 
little  steps  alternately  at  the  right  and  left  ends 
of  their  respective  cars,  so  that  in  the  long  train 
there  were  three  unguarded  platforms. 

A  man  was  rapidly  testing  and  oiling  the  car 
wheels.  His  torch  flared  yellow-red  against 
the  greasy  brown  of  the  trucks,  and  made  queer 
shadows  dance  on  the  red  varnished  surface  of 
the  cars. 

Stephen  tried  to  make  out  the  name  of  the 
car  nearest  to  him.  The  first  four  gilt  letters 
199 


THE  UP  GRADE 

showed  clearly  in  the  torchlight :  "  ELDO  "  — 
The  man  with  the  torch  moved  nearer.  "  EL- 
DORADO," spelled  Stephen.  "Perhaps  the 
name  is  a  delicate  hint  to  me  from  Fate." 

The  inspector  passed  on  up  the  train,  hitting 
ringing  blows  on  the  wheels  with  his  short, 
heavy  mallet.  He  tested  the  last  car,  then 
stepped  back  from  the  train,  swinging  his  torch 
around  his  head  as  a  signal  to  the  engineer. 

"It  must  be  now  or  never,"  thought  Loring. 
But  which  platform  to  try !  At  that  instant, 
from  the  car  opposite  him,  came  a  great  puff 
of  white  steam,  for  a  moment  almost  obscuring 
the  steps  from  view. 

Loring  darted  forward,  and  jumped  upon 
the  train  platform.  Anxiously  he  thrust  his 
shoulder  against  the  vestibule  door.  It  was 
unlocked.  As  he  gained  the  vestibule,  the  car 
couplings  tightened  with  a  jerk,  and  the  train 
clumsily  started.  He  took  a  hasty  glance  down 
the  interior  of  the  car.  At  the  opposite  end 
the  porter  was  closing  the  vestibule  door.  The 
aisle  was  clear. 

Stephen  stepped  quickly  into  the  car,  pulled 
back  the  curtain  of  the  nearest  section,  and 
stepping  on  the  lower  berth,  caught  hold  of 
200 


THE  UP  GRADE 

the  curtain  bar,  and  with  one  pull  swung  him- 
self up.  In  the  process,  he  inadvertently  stepped 
on  the  fat  man  in  the  lower  berth.  Stephen 
knew  that  he  was  fat,  because  he  felt  that  way. 
The  man  swore  sleepily,  and  twitched  the  cur- 
tain back  into  place. 

"I  think  that  I  won't  put  my  boots  out  to  be 
cleaned  to-night,"  said  Loring  to  himself.  "It 
would  be  tactless."  Then  he  pulled  the  blankets 
up  over  him,  rolled  over  close  to  the  far  side  of 
the  berth,  and  fell  asleep,  lulled  Jby  the  hum  of 
the  car  wheels,  pounding  southward  fifty  miles 
an  hour. 

Tired  out  by  his  vigil  of  the  night  before, 
Stephen  slept  until  it  was  late.  He  awoke  with 
a  start  to  find  that  it  was  broad  daylight. 
Sleepily  he  tried  to  think  where  he  was.  His 
eye  fell  on  the  dome  of  polished  mahogany  above 
him,  upon  the  swaying  green  curtain,  and  the 
swinging  bellrope.  Then  he  recalled  the  situa- 
tion. For  a  few  moments  he  lay  back,  blissfully 
comfortable.  His  weary  muscles  were  grateful 
for  the  rest.  Then  he  roused  himself,  and 
peered  cautiously  out  from  between  the  curtains. 
While  he  was  looking  up  and  down  the  dusty 
stretch  of  carpet  in  the  aisle,  the  colored  porter 

201 


THE  UP  GRADE 

rapped   hard  on  the  woodwork  of  the   lower 
berth,  and  proceeded  to  awake  the  occupant. 

"Last  call  for  breakfast,  number  twelve,  last 
call;  half-past  nine,  sir,  half-past  nine." 

Stephen  curbed  a  childlike  desire  to  reach 
over  and  pull  the  kinky  hair  of  the  darky. 

"I  am  sure  that  he  would  think  that  I  was  a 
ghost,"  he  laughed  to  himself. 

He  could  hear  the  man  below  him  turn  over 
heavily,  then  grunt,  and  begin  to  dress. 

"I  think  I  also  had  better  arise,"  reflected 
Loring.  He  watched  the  porter  until  the  latter 
was  at  the  far  end  of  the  car,  then  dropping  his 
feet  over  the  edge  of  the  berth  he  slid  out  onto 
the  swaying  floor,  almost  into  the  arms  of  the 
amazed  Pullman  conductor,  who  at  that  instant 
had  entered  the  car. 

"Where  did  you  get  on  ?"  gasped  the  brass- 
buttoned  official.  "I  didn't  know  that  there 
was  an  'upper'  taken  in  this  car." 

"At  Los  Andes,"  answered  Stephen,  "I  was 
rather  tired,  so  I  thought  I  would  not  bother 
you  at  the  time." 

The  conductor  looked  hard  at  Stephen,  and 
took  in   at  a  glance  his  ragged   clothes,   dirty 
shoes,  and  flannel  shirt ;  then  he  grinned. 
202 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"That  was  mighty  considerate  of  you, 
stranger;  now  let's  have  your  ticket/  We  have 
almost  reached  our  next  stop." 

Stephen  pretended  to  feel  in  his  pockets, 
though  he  well  knew  that  it  was  useless.  The 
other  people  in  the  train  were  beginning  to 
stare. 

"To  be  put  off  a  train  would  be  far  pleasanter 
in  imagination  than  in  reality,"  flashed  across 
Stephen's  mind. 

"Hurry  up,  now,"  repeated  the  conductor. 
"Where  is  your  ticket?" 

"  I  have  n't  any,"  Loring  blurted  out. 

"Come  on,  now,  no  nonsense!  fork  up!" 
insisted  the  conductor. 

"I  would  gladly,  if  I  had  any  money,"  re- 
joined Stephen,  then  with  seeming  irrevelancy, 
he  added:  "How  far  is  it  from  here  to  the 
'City'?" 

"It  is  about  seven  hundred  miles,"  answered 
the  conductor,  "but  I  am  sure  you  will  find  it 
a  delightful  walk." 

"Last  call  for  breakfast  in  the  dining-car. 
Last  call,"  again  echoed  through  the  car. 

"Better    hurry,    sir,"    said    the    porter,    not 
realizing  the  situation,  as  he  passed  Stephen. 
203 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Thank  you,"  said  Loring,  with  a  grim  smile. 
"But  I  think  I  will  refrain  from  eating  this 
morning." 

A  rather  heavy  faced  man,  who  was  sitting 
near  by,  laughed  audibly.  Stephen  became 
the  center  of  interest  for  the  passengers.  For 
them,  the  little  scene  was  a  perfect  bonanza, 
serving  to  break  the  monotony  of  the  trip.  Lor- 
ing was  conscious  of  the  stare  of  many  eyes, 
about  as  effectually  concealed  behind  books 
and  magazines  as  is  an  ostrich  with  its  head  in 
the  sand. 

"Come  out  into  the  vestibule  with  me!"  said 
the  conductor,  rather  gruffly.  Stephen  followed 
him  in  silence.  When  they  were  on  the  plat- 
form, the  conductor  turned  and  looked  at  him 
squarely.  Loring  noticed  that  there  could  be 
kind  lines  about  the  close-set  jaw. 

"See  here,"  began  the  former,  "you  don't 
look  to  me  like  a  man  who  is  often  working  this 
sort  of  game.  I  guess  you  must  be  sort  of  up 
against  it,  ain't  you  ?" 

Stephen  bowed  his  head  slowly,  in  non- 
committal agreement. 

"Now  I  don't  like  to  see  a  man  down  and 
out,"  went  on  the  conductor,  "unless  he  is  the 
204 


THE  UP  GRADE 

kind  that  deserves  to  be,  and  you  ain't.  Be- 
sides, you  're  from  the  States  like  I  am,  and  so, 
though  I  'd  lose  my  job  if  it  were  found  out, 
the  company  is  going  to  set  you  up  to  this  ride 
free." 

Stephen's  face  lighted  with  gratitude,  as  he 
grasped  the  man's  hand,  and  thanked  him. 

"When  did  you  have  anything  to  eat  last?" 
asked  the  conductor  suddenly." 

"Not  since  yesterday  morning,"  answered 
Stephen. 

"Well,  you  go  right  into  that  car"  (he  pointed 
forward  with  his  thumb)  "  and  eat.  I  '11  make 
it  all  right  with  the  dining-car  people." 

"That    is    too    much,"    said    Loring.     "I 


can't"  — 


The  conductor  cut  him  short.  "Some  time 
when  you  have  the  money,  you  can  pay  me 
back.  If  you  don't  ever  have  it,  don't  worry. 
No,  you  must  n't  thank  me  any  more.  It  is 
just  that  you  are  an  American,  and  I  don't  like 
to  see  a  fellow  from  the  States  up  against  it  in 
this  Godforsaken  land." 

As  Loring  walked  through  the  train,  his  blood 
tingled  with  the  pride  of  race  and  citizenship, 
tingled  with  the  glow  that  comes  or  should  come 
205 


THE  UP  GRADE 

to  every  man,  when  he  realizes  the  strength  of 
the  great  brotherhood  to  which  he  belongs: 
realizes  that  when  things  are  stripped  to  their 
elemental  facts,  and  the  veneer  of  interna- 
tional courtesy  and  friendliness  removed,  he  is 
standing  shoulder  to  shoulder  with  his  country- 
men against  the  world. 

When  at  last  the  train  drew  into  the  "  City," 
Stephen  said  a  warm  good-bye  to  his  benefactor, 
then  followed  the  line  of  passengers  out  into  the 
street.  With  no  definite  purpose  in  mind,  he 
wandered  up  and  down  the  city,  staring  idly 
into  the  shop  windows.  By  accident,  he  found 
himself  in  a  great  plaza.  He  was  pleased 
with  the  gaiety. 

"  If  it  were  not  for  economic  distress,  I  should 
be  very  well  off,"  he  thought.  "  I  must  get  work 
somewhere,  and  immediately." 

He  walked  up  one  of  the  side  streets,  looking 
at  all  the  signs,  hoping  that  one  might  give  him 
a  clew.  For  a  long  time  he  saw  nothing  helpful, 
and  he  was  on  the  brink  of  discouragement, 
when  his  eye  was  attracted  by  a  large  gilt  uni- 
brella  on  the  next  corner,  hung  out  over  the 
street.  Beneath  it  was  a  Spanish  sign  to  the 
effect  that  umbrellas  could  be  bought,  sold,  or 
206 


THE  UP  GRADE 

repaired  within.  In  the  window  was  a  large 
placard:  "We  speak  English." 

"If  I  were  skilful  with  my  hands,"  thought 
Loring,  "I  might  get  a  job  repairing  here;  but 
I  am  not  skilful  with  my  hands." 

He  stood  reflecting,  his  hands  deep  in  his 
pockets.  An  idea  soon  came  to  him,  for 
he  had  always  been  more  resourceful  than 
successful. 

He  walked  boldly  into  the  shop,  and  ap- 
proached the  proprietor.  The  man  began  to 
assume  the  smile  with  which  he  welcomed  pro- 
spective buyers,  noticed  Loring's  clothes,  and 
checking  the  smile,  waited  in  silence  for  him  to 
speak.  Stephen,  unabashed,  smiled  in  a  most 
friendly  fashion,  and  a  few  words  of  comment 
upon  the  admirable  situation  of  the  shop,  and 
the  excellence  of  the  stock,  quite  won  the 
owner's  confidence.  After  a  few  moments  of 
conversation,  in  a  guile-free  manner  he  asked: 
"And  do  you  do  much  repairing  here?" 

"No,"  the  proprietor  admitted,  "very  little. 
Most  of  my  business  is  to  buy  and  sell." 

"It  seems  strange  that  in  a  big  city  such 
as  this  there  should  be  no  demand  for 


repairs  ? 


207 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Stephen  made  the  statement  a  question  by 
the  rising  inflection.  He  spoke  with  the  hesitat- 
ing assurance  which  had  made  so  many  people 
trust  him. 

The  proprietor  shook  his  head  in  answer: 
"No,  there  is  no  demand." 

"Is  it  not  that  people  do  not  think,  perhaps, 
do  not  know  of  your  place  ? " 

"Very  likely  you  are  right,"  answered  the 
storekeeper.  He  was  pleased  by  the  stranger's 
interest  in  his  business. 

Then  Loring  played  his  high  card. 

"Suppose  that  you  had  an  active  English- 
speaking  agent,  who  would  go  to  the  offices 
and  homes  of  the  American  and  English  colony, 
and  collect  umbrellas  to  be  repaired,  then  would 
not  your  business  flourish  ?" 

The  shop  owner  grasped  the  plan,  but  not 
with  both  hands. 

"Y-e-s,"  he  answered  slowly.  In  dealing 
with  an  American  he  felt  that  he  must  be  on 
his  guard. 

"Well,"  continued  Stephen,  "I  am  such  a 
man,  very  efficient  (Heaven  help  me !)  and  re- 
liable (It  won't!).  For  a  commission,  no  pay 
in  advance,  but  for  a  commission  of  say  ten 
208 


THE  UP  GRADE 

cents  for  each  umbrella,  I  will  collect  for  you." 
The  umbrella  man  consented  half  reluctantly. 
The  matter  was  soon  arranged,  and  Loring 
hastened  forth  upon  his  rounds. 

By  six  o'clock,  after  many  strange  experiences, 
and  rebuffs,  he  had  managed  to  collect  ten  um- 
brellas. Gaudy  red,  somber  black,  two  green 
ones,  and  one  white.  All  were  in  advanced 
stages  of  decrepitude.  He  had  pleaded  with 
the  owners  to  let  them  be  restored,  as  if  each 
umbrella  had  an  "inalienable  right  to  life, 
liberty,  and  the  pursuit  of  happiness." 

With  his  odd  collection  bundled  under  his 
arms,  Loring  started  on  his  return  to  the  store. 
Greatly  pleased  with  the  success  of  his  scheme, 
he  strolled  along  talking  to  himself,  and  not 
noticing  where  he  was  going. 

Walking  in  the  opposite  direction  to  Loring 
on  the  same  sidewalk  was  another  man.  His 
quick,  decisive  steps  and  the  slightly  deprecat- 
ing glance  which  he  cast  at  any  thing  of  beauty 
in  the  windows  of  the  shops  that  he  passed 
proclaimed  him  an  American.  The  expression 
on  his  face  varied  from  amusement  to  scorn 
as  he  glanced  at  things  that  were  different  from 
those  in  the  States.  There  was  in  his  whole 
»4  209 


THE  UP  GRADE 

manner  that  good-humored  toleration  of  the 
best  achievements  of  another  nation  that  marks 
the  travelling  American.  The  sidewalk  was 
narrow,  and  the  heavy  shoulders  of  this  man 
overshadowed  half  the  distance  across.  He  was 
covering  a  good  yard  at  a  stride,  which  was  all 
the  more  remarkable  as  the  most  of  his  height 
was  above  the  waist.  Had  he  been  a  girl,  his 
hair  would  have  been  called  auburn  where  it 
showed  beneath  his  hat.  Being  a  man,  it  may 
be  truthfully  said  that  it  matched  the  bricks  of 
the  building  he  was  passing.  His  eyes,  which 
were  as  round  as  the  portholes  of  a  ship,  be- 
tokened a  degree  of  honesty  and  kindness  which 
matched  well  with  the  general  effect  of  strength 
and  homeliness  given  by  his  whole  appearance. 
The  energy  of  all  his  motions  was  a  sharp  con- 
trast to  Loring's  lazy  stroll.  At  the  second  that 
he  reached  Loring,  his  eyes  were  uplifted  in 
wondering  curiosity  at  the  bright  colors  of 
the  roof  tiles.  His  preoccupation,  combined 
with  Loring's  absorption,  made  a  collision 
inevitable.  And  the  inevitable,  as  usual, 
took  place. 

"I  beg  your  pard — "  began  Stephen,  raising 
his  eyes. 

210 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Stephen  Loring!"  exclaimed  the  stranger. 
"Where  in  the  devil  did  you  come  from  ?" 

"Baird  Radlett!"  called  Stephen,  as  if 
stupefied. 

They  shook  hands  warmly.  Radlett  was  an 
old  friend  of  Stephen's,  one  who  had  been  an 
intimate  in  the  days  before  Loring' s  misfortunes. 

"Come  on,  Steve,  we  '11  go  and  get  a  drink," 
said  Radlett. 

Loring  shook  his  head.  "Not  for  me, 
thanks,"  he  answered. 

"  Phew ! "  whistled  Radlett.  "  Since  when  ? " 
he  involuntarily  exclaimed.  Then  for  the  first 
time  he  took  notice  of  the  strange  load  which 
Loring  was  carrying. 

"What  on  earth,  Steve? "he  asked,  pointing 
to  the  umbrellas. 

In  the  old  days  Loring  had  been  well  off, 
Radlett  rich,  and  it  hurt  Stephen  to  explain  his 
abject  poverty.  He  hesitated  a  moment,  then 
unblushingly  replied : 

"Why  you  see,  Baird,  I  am  on  a  sort  of  house- 
party  here,  and  the  weather  being  fine,  I  thought 
that  I  would  take  all  the  girls'  umbrellas  around 
to  be  fixed." 

Radlett  stared  in  amazement,  then  both  broke 
211 


THE  UP  GRADE 

into  shouts  of  laughter,  as  the  ridiculousness  of 
the  excuse  struck  them  simultaneously. 

"See  here,  Steve,  I  know  that  you  are  in  hard 
luck.  Come  down  to  my  hotel  with  me,  and  we 
will  talk  things  over,"  said  Radlett.  Putting 
his  arm  affectionately  through  Loring's,  he 
dragged  him,  protesting,  along  with  him.  As 
they  walked,  Stephen  explained  the  matter  of 
the  umbrellas,  while  Radlett  listened  amused, 
but  a  bit  saddened. 

"To  think  of  dear  old  Steve  Loring  reduced 
to  peddling  umbrellas  !"  he  said  to  himself. 

On  their  way,  they  came  to  the  gilt  sign  of 
the  umbrellas. 

"I  must  leave  these  here,"  said  Loring. 

Radlett  tactfully  waited  outside,  while  Stephen 
entered  and  deposited  the  results  of  his  collec- 
tion. The  proprietor,  who,  when  released  from 
Stephen's  winning  conversation,  had  begun  to 
feel  rather  worried,  was  surprised  and  delighted 
at  the  success  of  the  mission.  He  opened  the 
cash  drawer,  and  handed  to  Stephen  a  silver 
dollar.  Stephen  wrote  down  the  addresses  of 
the  umbrella  owners,  then  with  his  new  earned 
dollar  clinking  lovingly  against  the  keys  in  his 
pocket,  he  rejoined  Radlett. 
212 


THE  UP  GRADE 

They  walked  briskly  to  the  hotel  where  Rad- 
lett  was  staying,  and  stepping  into  the  smoking 
room,  were  soon  comfortably  ensconced  in  two 
big  leather  armchairs,  placed  in  an  out-of-the- 
way  corner  of  the  room. 


213 


CHAPTER  XIII 

RADLETT  pounded  upon  the  nickel  bell 
on  the  smoking  table,  and  ordered  two 
cigars.     Stephen  bit  the  end  of  his  cigar 
hastily,  while  Radlett  produced  a  clipper  from 
his  pocket,  and  carefully  cut  the   end   of  his. 
These   unconscious   actions  portrayed  well  the 
differences  in  their  characters.    Drawing  a  match 
from     the    white    earthenware    holder,     Baird 
scratched  it  on  the  rough  surface,  and  then  held 
the  light  to  Stephen's  cigar. 

"Mine  is  lighted,  thank  you,  Baird,"  said 
Loring,  and  through  blue  circles  of  smoke  he 
watched  Radlett  light  his  own  cigar. 

"I  had  almost  forgotten  what  a  stocky  old 
brute  Baird  was,"  he  mused.  "I  do  not  think, 
though,  that  I  could  ever  forget  that  dear  old 
face.  Of  all  the  faces  that  I  ever  knew  his  is 
the  homeliest,  and  the  kindest !  If  he  poked 
that  long  jaw  of  his  out  at  me,  and  looked  at  me 
with  those  honest  eyes,  he  might  tell  me  that 
214 


THE  UP  GRADE 

black  was  white,  and  I  should  fight  the  man 
who  said  that  it  was  not  true." 

Radlett  also  utilized  those  first  moments  of 
silence  brought  about  by  a  good  cigar,  an  old 
friend,  and  a  comfortable  chair,  to  make  a  few 
observations  of  his  own. 

"In  five  years,  Steve  has  changed  a  great 
deal,"  he  thought.  "Five  years  of  failure,  and 
drifting,  such  as  I  judge  these  to  have  been, 
leave  their  mark  on  any  man,  definitely  and  in- 
definitely. Imagine  Loring,  the  fastidious,  in 
those  clothes  five  years  ago !  And  then  the  old 
frank  manner  has  become  a  bit  hesitant.  He 
seems  always  on  the  defensive.  Poor  old  chap, 
he  must  have  had  some  pretty  hard  blows.  The 
old  light  in  his  eyes  is  no  longer  there;  but  after 
all  he  has  that  same  quality  of  winning  ap- 
peal, of  humor  and  of  latent  strength,  which 
nothing  can  obliterate,  which  always  has  made 
and  always  will  make  every  one  who  knows 
him  hope  for  the  best,  and  pardon  the  worst." 
At  the  conclusion  of  his  reflections,  Baird's 
eyes  were  damp. 

Stephen  smoked  slowly,  as  one  would  sip 
a  rare  old  wine.  Then,  taking  the  cigar  from 
his  mouth,  he  held  it  before  his  eyes,  twirling 
215 


THE  UP  GRADE 

the  label  slowly  around,  and  looking  at  it 
appreciatively. 

"It  is  eleven  months  since  I  smoked  a  good 
cigar,  Baird;  perhaps  you  can  guess  how  this 
one  tastes  to  me,"  said  Loring  softly,  almost  as 
if  talking  to  himself.  Then  he  relapsed  again 
into  silence. 

Radlett  puffed  vigorously  on  his  cigar,  then 
said:  "Steve,  it  is  your  own  fault  that  you  are 
not  smoking  good  cigars  all  the  time." 

"Perhaps  it  is,"  answered  Loring;  "but  the 
fact  remains,  and  eleven  months  is  a  long  time 
out  of  one's  life  to  lose  such  happiness." 

"The  last  time  that  I  heard  of  you,  you  were 
in  Chicago,"  remarked  Radlett.  "Some  one 
told  me  that  you  had  a  good  position  there. 
What  happened  to  you  ?" 

"Fired,"  was  the  laconic  answer. 

"Did  you  deserve  to  be?" 

"Yes." 

One  of  the  things  that  Loring's  friends  held 
dearest  in  him  was  the  fact  that  he  never 
shirked  the  truth  in  the  matter  of  his  delin- 
quencies. His  own  word  on  the  matter  was 
final.  In  the  old  days  Loring's  deficiencies  had 
been  among  his  most  charming  attributes.  Peo- 
216 


THE  UP  GRADE 

pie  had  always  spoken  hopefully  of  "When  he 
buckles  down."  Now  the  "When  he  will," 
had  become  "Now  that  he  has  not,"  and  his 
deficiencies  were  not  so  charming. 

Radlett  smoked  on  imperturbably.  When 
he  again  spoke,  his  voice  was  thick  with  smoke. 

"What  was  your  last  position  ?" 

"Hoist  engineer,  Quentin  Mining  Company." 

Again  the  query :   "Why  did  you  leave  ?" 

"Fired,"  repeated  Stephen,  flushing  savagely. 
Then  looking  Radlett  in  the  eyes,  he  added : 
"I  was  drunk,  and  through  my  fault  two  men 
were  killed." 

Leaning  forward,  Radlett  laid  his  hand  on 
Loring's  shoulder,  and  gripped  it  tightly  with 
his  strong  fingers. 

"  Steve,  old  man,  I  am  sorry  for  you.  I  know 
what  this  must  mean  to  you.  You  were  always 
the  most  kind-hearted  fellow  on  earth,  and  I 
can  see  how  this  has  crushed  and  saddened 
you.  I  'm  —  I  'm  damned  sorry  —  but,  Steve, 
you  needed  it.  It  will  be  the  making  of  you, 
Steve.  We  have  all  been  wanting  to  help  you, 
and  we  could  not;  you  would  not  let  us.  You 
have  lost  almost  everything  in  the  world,  — 
your  money,  your  position,  your  family.  You 
217 


THE  UP  GRADE 

have  lost  prize  after  prize  which  you  might  have 
won;  and  all  these  things  have  not  held  you. 
You  still  had  that  quality  of  drifting.  You  used 
to  think,  —  I  remember  well  how  we  used  to 
talk  it  over,  —  that  love  would  hold  a  man. 
It  won't.  If  you  have  tried  it,  you  know" 
Loring  breathed  hard  —  "if  you  have  not, 
then  you  have  been  spared  one  more  blow. 
You  never  had,  or  could  have  had,  religion;  I 
don't  know  what  that  might  have  done  for  you." 
Radlett  was  speaking  fast  now,  and  though  he 
struck  hard,  Loring  never  flinched. 

"You  always  knew  that  you  were  hurting 
yourself  by  what  you  did;  but  that  did  not 
check  you,"  went  on  Radlett.  "You  had,  I 
remember,  a  creed  of  ethics  in  which,  so  you 
said,  you  logically  believed.  You  know  how 
much  good  that  has  done  you. 

"Steve,  I  am  as  sorry  for  you  as  if  you  were 
myself — yes,  sorrier."  In  the  intensity  of 
their  grasp,  his  fingers  almost  crushed  Loring's 
shoulder.  "I  know  what  it  seems  to  you,  the 
feeling  of  guilt,  and  of  remorse;  but  you  de- 
served it  and  you  needed  it.  The  one  thing 
that  could  have  stopped  your  drifting  was  to 
find  that  your  destiny  and  actions  are  inex- 
218 


THE  UP  GRADE 

tricably  tangled  with  those  of  other  men.  Now 
that  you  have  learned  that  by  drifting  you  may 
sink  other  ships,  you  won't  drift.  I  know  you, 
Steve,  and  I  swear  it.  This  has  been  your  salva- 
tion." Radlett  stopped  short,  and  sank  back 
into  his  chair. 

Stephen  sat  looking  sternly  into  the  smoke. 
There  were  deep  lines  beneath  his  eyes,  showing 
dark  against  his  pallor,  for  so  great  was  the 
tumult  within  him  that  even  through  his  heavy 
tan  his  face  showed  white.  When  he  spoke 
it  was  as  a  man  who  opens  his  mouth,  and  does 
not  know  whether  the  words  that  he  speaks  are 
loud  or  soft. 

"You  are  right,  Baird.  I  was  wrong,  and 
Baird,  I  Ve  thrown  over  everything  in  the  world 
that  I  cared  about.  There  was  a  girl,  Baird; 
you  were  right  about  that,  too.  She  believed 
in  me,  even  though  she  did  not  care.  I  cared 
for  her  more  than  for  anything  that  I  have 
ever  dreamed  of  in  the  world.  She  was  every- 
thing to  me,  Baird,  and  I  promised  her  that  I 
would  make  good.  I  broke  my  word.  It  was 
the  only  thing  that  I  had  not  broken  before. 
Well,  my  love  for  her  did  not  check  me. 

"  But  since  that  —  that  —  murder,"  he  spoke 
219 


THE  UP  GRADE 

now  from  deep  in  his  chest,  "I  have  gripped 
myself;  I  have  found  myself.  I  am  going  to 
work  up  again,  Baird.  I  can,  —  I  am  on  the  up 
grade.  I  am  sure  of  it.  It  is  a  hard  struggle, 
but  the  fight  of  it  makes  it  all  the  more  worth 
while.  It  will  be  hard,  and  it  will  take  time; 
but  I  can  do  it." 

Radlett  stared  out  of  the  window  for  a  few 
moments,  as  though  deeply  absorbed  in  watch- 
ing a  passing  carriage.  Letting  his  eyes  travel 
back  to  Loring,  he  asked:  "Did  you  ever 
hear  of  the  Kay  mine  ?  I  think  that  it  was 
situated  near  where  you  were  last  working." 

Stephen  nodded.  He  was  relieved  at  the 
change  from  the  tenseness  of  the  conversation, 
and  a  little  ashamed  of  the  emotion  which  he 
had  shown.  "Yes,"  he  answered,  "it  was  only 
fifteen  or  twenty  miles  from  Quentin.  An  Eng- 
lish syndicate  bought  it  some  time  ago.  They 
brought  out  polo  ponies,  dog-carts,  and  heaven 
knows  what  besides,  to  gladden  their  hearts 
while  in  exile.  I  rode  there  only  a  few  weeks 
ago,  and  looked  over  the  place.  The  mine  has 
been  shut  down  for  a  year.  It  is  a  wonder  that 
they  were  ever  able  to  open  it  in  the  first  place, 
with  all  the  nonsense  that  they  had.  A  man 

220 


THE  UP  GRADE 

whom  I  saw  there  told  me  that  the  English 
managers  had  spent  two  days  in  arguing  where 
to  put  the  'baths  in  the  houses  of  the  tenantry/ 
I  hear  that  the  mine  has  just  been  sold  again." 

Radlett  grinned  from  ear  to  ear  at  the  thought 
of  the  effect  on  the  community  of  a  remark  about 
the  "tenantry." 

"Still,"  went  on  Loring,"  almost  everybody 
says  that  it  is  a  very  rich  property,  and  would 
have  paid  well  if  it  had  only  been  worked 
properly.  The  indications  were  very  good  for 
a  big  vein." 

Radlett  beat  a  tattoo  with  his  fingers  on  the 
arms  of  his  chair. 

"I  have  just  bought  the  mine,"  he  said. 

Stephen  looked  at  him  in  surprise. 

"I  thought,"  he  said,  "that  you  were  only 
interested  in  railroads." 

"That  is  true;  but  this  is  a  sort  of  'flyer.' 
I  had  the  chance  to  buy  the  property  very 
cheaply,  and  the  expert  whom  I  sent  to  look  at 
it  reported  it  as  good,  if  it  were  properly  man- 
aged. I  must  get  as  manager  a  man  whom  I 
can  absolutely  trust,  as  I  shall  have  no  time  to 
supervise  the  work  personally.  Stephen,  will 
you  take  the  position  ?" 

221 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Loring  sat  up  straight  in  his  chair. 

"I  am  not  the  man  for  the  place,"  he  said; 
'•'I  know  very  little  about  mining,  and  besides — 

"Leave  out  the  'besides',"  answered  Radlett. 
"That  is  over  with.  I  would  trust  you  now  as 
soon  as  any  man  living.  As  for  the  knowledge 
of  mining,  you  will  not  require  any.  There  is 
a  good  mine  foreman  there  who  can  attend  to 
that.  What  I  want  is  a  man  to  organize  and 
run  the  plant,  to  make  it  a  paying  producer. 
It  needs  a  man  who  understands  men,  more 
than  a  man  who  understands  mining.  The  ore 
is  there.  The  men  to  get  the  ore  will  be  there; 
but  there  must  be  a  head  for  the  whole  system. 
You  know,  better  than  I  do,  that  a  new  mine 
means  a  new  community  to  be  governed.  It 
needs  a  man  who  will  see  that  for  every  copper 
cent  that  goes  into  the  ground,  two  copper  cents 
come  out,  a  man  who  will  see  that  the  ma- 
chinery which  is  ordered  arrives  on  time.  It 
needs  a  man  who  will  pick  the  right  subordi- 
nates and  will  give  them  pride  in  their  work. 
It  needs  a  man  who  will  get  the  labor,  and 
keep  it  there.  That  is  what  I  want  you  for, 
Steve.  You  can  do  the  work.  Now  will  you  ? " 

Two   voices   seemed   to   whisper   in   Loring. 

222 


THE  UP  GRADE 

One  was  of  pride,  the  other  was  of  pride  in 
himself.  The  voice  of  pride  whispered:  "He 
is  your  friend,  and  is  offering  this  to  you  from 
charity."  The  other  voice,  aggressive  and  self- 
reliant,  whispered:  "You  can  do  the  work 
well.  It  needs  a  man,  and  you  are  capable  of 
doing  it." 

"Baird,"  he  said  brokenly,  "I  will.  I  can't 
thank  you;  it  is  far  too  big  a  chance  to  be  ac- 
knowledged by  mere  thanks.  But  I  will  do  my 
best  for  you,  and  if  I  fail,  it  will  be  because  I 
am  not  a  big  enough  man,  and  not  because  I 
have  not  tried." 

"The  thanks  will  be  from  me  to  you,  when 
the  Kay  is  the  biggest  producer  in  Final  County," 
responded  Radlett.  "If  you  do  your  best,  it 
will  be  the  best  that  can  be  done.  Don't  think 
that  it  is  from  friendship  that  I  offer  you  this. 
I  always  keep  friendship  and  business  apart, 
and  I  am  offering  this  to  you  because  you  are 
the  man  that  I  need."  Radlett  took  a  large 
leather  covered  note-book  from  his  pocket. 

"Here   are   the   details   of  the   proposition," 

he  said,  and  for  almost  an  hour  he  read  aloud 

a  list  of  figures  and  estimates.    Loring  listened, 

keenly  alert,  and  questioned  and  criticised  with 

223 


THE  UP  GRADE 

an  insight  which  surprised  Radlett,  who  several 
times  looked  up  in  approval  at  some  suggestion. 
When  he  had  finished,  he  closed  the  book,  and 
said:  "The  acting  manager  will  start  you  on 
your  work.  The  mine  was  opened  last  week, 
but  everything  there  is  still  at  sixes  and  sevens. 
When  do  you  think  that  you  can  start  north  ? " 

"I  will  take  the  eleven  o'clock  train  to- 
night," answered  Stephen,  decidedly,  "  only  — 

"By  the  way,"  said  Baird,  in  a  matter  of 
fact  manner,  "you  had  better  draw  your  first 
month's  salary  in  advance.  There  will  be  a 
great  many  things  that  you  need  to  get."  He 
wrote  a  check  and  gave  it  to  Loring.  "They 
will  cash  this  for  us  at  the  office.  I  shall  tele- 
graph to-night  to  the  mine,  telling  them  to 
expect  you;  also  to  the  company  in  Tucson, 
telling  them  to  honor  your  drafts." 

Radlett  rose  and  looked  at  his  watch.  "It  is 
eight  o'clock  and  I  am  as  hungry  as  a  bear, 
and,"  he  added,  with  a  twinkle  in  his  eyes,  "if 
you  can  leave  that  house-party  of  yours,  where 
the  girls  have  such  charming  umbrellas,  we 
might  dine  together  before  you  start." 

They  entered  the  dining-room,  where  the 
orchestra  was  playing  gaily,  and  settled  them- 
224 


THE  UP  GRADE 

selves  at  a  table  glowingly  lighted  with  candles 
under  softened  shades. 

"Doesn't  this  seem  like  old  times,  Steve?" 
said  Radlett,  while  he  carved  the  big  planked 
steak  which  they  had  ordered.  Throughout 
the  meal,  time  and  again  the  phrase :  "  Do  you 
remember?"  was  repeated,  recalling  hosts  of 
memories,  both  sad  and  gay.  The  intimacy 
between  Radlett  and  Loring  had  been  of  such 
depth  and  woven  with  so  many  bonds  that  the 
years  in  which  they  had  been  separated  made 
no  difference  in  their  complete  companionship. 
They  were  not  forced  to  fall  back  on  the  past 
on  account  of  lack  of  sympathy  and  mutual 
interest  in  the  present,  as  is  so  often  the  case; 
but  rather  they  looked  backward  as  one  might 
open  a  much  loved  book,  the  interest  of  which 
increases  as  the  covers  wear  out,  and  in  which 
the  delight  is  intensified  when  some  congenial 
soul  has  shared  its  moods,  and  its  laughter. 
Through  all  the  conversation,  Radlett,  with  an 
inborn  tact  unexpected  in  a  man  whose  manner 
was  so  bluff,  skilfully  recalled  Stephen's  suc- 
cesses, and  dwelt  upon  them  in  an  endeavor  to 
raise  that  self-confidence  in  Loring  which  had 
been  shaken  to  its  core.  Stephen's  failures  were 
15  225 


THE  UP  GRADE 

recalled  by  Stephen  himself,  whose  recollection 
of  them  was  undimmed  though  his  perspective 
on  them  had  changed.  So  quickly  did  the  time 
pass  that  it  was  with  a  start  that  they  both 
heard  the  clock  in  the  hall  outside  strike  ten, 
in  a  deliberate,  impersonal  fashion.  In  answer 
to  a  question  from  Radlett,  Loring  shook  his 
head. 

"No,  I  have  no  preparations  to  make.  If 
the  city  with  no  history  is  happy,  then  certainly 
the  person  with  no  possessions  to  bother  him 
should  be  content." 

So  they  smoked  in  quiet  companionship  until 
it  was  time  to  leave  for  the  station.  Baird  saw 
Loring  on  board  the  train,  and  they  parted 
after  a  silent,  firm  handshake,  which  gave 
strength  to  one  and  conviction  to  the  other. 


226 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IN  six  months  after  Loring  had  taken  charge, 
the  Kay  mine  was  producing  on  a  paying 
basis.  What  those  six  months  had  accom- 
plished was  little  short  of  marvelous.  At  the 
time  of  the  arrival  of  the  new  manager,  every- 
thing had  been  in  an  extreme  state  of  disor- 
ganization. Unused  machinery  stood  uncovered 
and  rusting.  The  pumps  were  hardly  more 
than  holding  the  water  in  the  shafts.  No  new 
timbering  had  been  put  in  place  to  supplant 
the  old,  which  was  dangerously  rotten.  The 
costly  electric  lighting  plant  had  been  almost 
ruined  by  neglect.  Discord  had  been  reigning 
between  the  various  heads  of  departments,  and 
discord  in  a  community  in  which  there  is  no 
recreation,  and  from  which  there  is  no  way  of 
escape,  is  a  dangerous  element. 

When   Loring  had   assumed   control,   in   ex- 
planation  of   failures    each    worker  had   mur- 
mured complaints  of  others.    At  the  mess  there 
had   been   gloomy   silence,   in   contrast   to   the 
227 


THE  UP  GRADE 

joviality  which  had  prevailed  at  the  old  mess 
in  Quentin.  Distrusted  and  disliked,  Loring 
had  firmly  pursued  his  course  until  that  course 
was  justified,  and  the  criticism  and  hatred  had 
turned  to  respect  and  admiration.  He  had 
worked  night  and  day,  attending  to  everything 
himself.  Loring  was  tireless  in  his  enthusiasm, 
and  he  had  inspired  the  men  under  him  to  do 
their  work  better  than  they  knew  how.  The 
result  was  that  by  this  time,  the  system  of  a  well- 
built  machine  had  supplanted  the  previous  chaos. 
And  though  it  was  far  from  a  perfect  machine, 
each  day  was  adding  to  its  efficiency. 

The  nervous  irritability  of  the  mess  had 
been  relieved  by  the  arrival  of  an  old  friend. 
One  day  Hop  Wah  had  drifted  into  Stephen's 
office  and  after  announcing  solemnly:  "Me 
canned,  too,"  had  stood  waiting  expectantly 
until  Loring  had  ordered  him  installed  as 
assistant  cook  in  the  company  eating-house. 
Within  a  week  after  this  the  meals  had  become 
joyous  occasions.  Wah  would  dance  from  man 
to  man  as  he  served  the  meals,  murmuring  in- 
sults which  pleased  even  the  insulted,  and  pro- 
voked roars  of  laughter  at  the  victim's  expense. 
When  he  had  some  particularly  bold  insult  to 
228 


THE  UP  GRADE 

deliver,  he  would  sing  it  from  the  kitchen  win- 
dow. The  singing  lent  impersonality  and  the 
distance  safety.  Soon  the  refrain  and  interlude 
of  his  old  song,  "  La,  la,  boom,  boom,"  were  as 
well  known,  and  as  popular  in  Kay,  as  they 
had  been  in  Quentin. 

Radlett  had  told  Loring  that  there  would 
be  much  work  for  him  to  do,  and  he  had  not 
been  guilty  of  exaggeration.  Night  after  night 
the  electric  light  beneath  the  green  tin  reflector 
in  the  office  had  burned  until  well  into  the  morn- 
ing. Then  a  watcher  might  have  seen  it  go  out 
suddenly,  before  a  tired  man  turned  the  key  in 
the  office  door. 

The  increase  of  efficiency  in  the  work  at  the 
Kay  mine  was  due  to  one  thing,  —  the  cease- 
less vigilance  of  Stephen  Loring,  and  the  out- 
ward circumstances  were  only  the  manifestation 
of  the  changed  conditions  within  himself.  One 
who  had  known  Loring,  the  failure,  would 
scarcely  have  recognized  Loring,  the  success. 
The  chin  line  no  longer  drooped,  his  smile 
showed  honest  pride  in  the  goodness  of  his 
work,  his  movements  were  alert,  his  head  thrown 
back.  His  skin  was  ruddy  and  his  eyes  clear, 
yet  the  marks  about  his  mouth  showed  traces 
229 


THE  UP  GRADE 

of  the  struggle  through  which  he  had  passed, 
and  there  were  new  lines  of  care  lying  in  furrows 
across  his  forehead.  He  had  aged  under  re- 
sponsibility, and  something  of  the  old,  lazy 
charm  which  had  endeared  him  to  his  friends 
was  gone;  but  a  stranger  looking  at  him  would 
have  appreciated  at  once  that  here  was  a  man 
of  force,  one  who  meant  to  be  master,  and  who 
was  fitted  to  be. 

It  is  possible  that  the  change  in  his  dress  con- 
tributed as  much  as  the  more  subtle  develop- 
ments, for  Loring,  in  his  blue  suit,  soft  white 
shirt,  and  well-oiled  tan  boots,  was  a  very  dif- 
ferent looking  man  from  the  shabbily  clothed 
wanderer  who  had  sought  work  last  year  in 
Phoenix. 

On  one  autumn  afternoon  Stephen  sat  at 
the  desk  in  his  office,  engaged  in  dictating  a 
report  to  the  directors  of  the  Company.  Above 
the  rattle  and  click  of  the  typewriter  his  voice 
rose  and  fell  monotonously:  "The  construc- 
tion work  alone  is  behind.  Within  the  work- 
ings three  new  stopes  have  been  opened  since 
last  report,  at  positions  marked  on  the  enclosed 
print.  The  ore  in  these  has  been  running  high, 
averaging"  —  (he  paused  and  glanced  at  the 
230 


THE  UP  GRADE 

assayers'  report  lying  on  the  table  beside  him) 
"  averaging  twelve  per  cent  copper.  If  the  con- 
tact vein  continues  to  run  in  its  present  direction, 
the  ore  from  the  new  stopes  which  we  are  open- 
ing may  be  reached  cheaply  by  means  of  winzes 
from  the  three  hundred  foot  level."  Loring 
verified  this  carefully  from  the  foreman's  report, 
then  nodded  to  the  stenographer  to  proceed. 
"The  cost  of  production  has  been  reduced  five 
per  cent  in  the  last  month.  If  the  present  favor- 
able prices  for  the  coke  continue,  I  hope  to 
reduce  this  still  more.  I  enclose  for  the  first  time 
a  detailed  statement  of  expense  distributed  per 
department,  made  possible  by  the  new  system 
of  bookkeeping  which  has  been  adopted.'*  Here 
he  paused.  "  That  is  all  for  the  present,"  he  said. 

Then  he  picked  up  the  construction  report 
and  with  a  frown  reread  it.  "That  is  bad 
work,"  he  murmured.  "With  all  the  men  whom 
Fitz  had  under  him,  he  should  have  done  better, 
and  accomplished  more." 

"Oh,  Reade!"  he  called  to  the  stenographer 
who  had  gone  into  the  back  room,  "come  back 
here !  I  have  something  to  add  to  that  report." 

The  stenographer  came  in,  and  again  took 
his  place  before  the  typewriter. 
231 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Owing  to  the  slowness  of  the  work  on  the 
exterior  construction,  I  have  found  it  necessary 
to  dispense  with  the  services  of  Mr.  Fitz." 

Reade  looked  up  in  surprise.  "Are  you 
going  to  '  can  *  him  ? " 

Stephen  made  no  answer,  but  continued  to 
dictate:  "I  have  secured  the  services  of  a  very 
good  man,  who  until  recently  has  been  at  the 
head  of  that  work  in  the  Quentin  Mining  Com- 
pany and  who,  I  think,  will  fill  the  position  very 
satisfactorily."  "That  is  all,  Reade." 

The  stenographer  left  the  room,  whistling 
softly.  "He  sure  acts  with  precision,"  mur- 
mured Reade,  as  he  closed  the  door.  "When 
Fitz  answered  back  at  mess  the  other  night,  I 
knew  he  'd  get  into  trouble.  The,  Boss  never 
speaks  twice,  and  now  that  the  men  under- 
stand his  ways,  he  don't  need  to." 

A  short  half-hour  after  Loring  had  finished 
his  letter  the  stage  from  the  northward  drew 
up  outside  the  office  door,  and  a  passenger 
descended  from  it.  Loring  opened  the  window, 
looked  out,  and  recognized  his  old  friend 
McKay. 

"Prompt  as  usual !"  thought  Loring.  "I  did 
not  expect  him  until  to-morrow  or  the  day 
232 


THE  UP  GRADE 

after;   but  I  like  his  coming  so  soon.     Prompt- 
ness means  efficiency." 

Loring  smiled  when  he  heard  McKay  tell 
the  driver  to  charge  the  trip  to  the  Company. 
"Mac  has  not  much  to  learn  of  business  methods 
in  the  west,"  Loring  chuckled,  as  he  hastened 
to  resume  his  seat  at  the  desk.  A  little  later  he 
heard  a  thump,  as  McKay  dropped  his  bag  on 
the  porch,  and  then  he  heard  him  asking  for 
the  manager.  Some  one  directed  the  stranger 
to  the  office,  and  Loring  heard  the  creak  of  his 
boots  on  the  stairs. 

Stephen,  for  he  had  a  streak  of  vanity 
in  his  nature,  lighted  a  cigar,  and  pretended 
to  be  very  busy  over  some  papers.  After  a 
moment  he  looked  up,  to  find  McKay  staring 
in  such  open-mouthed  astonishment  that  it 
seemed  as  if  his  teeth  were  in  danger  of  falling 
back  down  his  throat. 

"Well,  I'll  be  damned!"  he  finally  ejacu- 
lated. "What  are  you  doing  here?" 

"I  am  the  manager,"  said  Stephen  in  a 
dignified  manner.  Then  he  could  keep  a  sober 
face  no  longer,  and  burst  into  a  laugh,  in  which 
McKay,  though  in  a  dazed  and  uncertain 
manner,  joined. 

233 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Stephen  jumped  up  from  his  chair  and 
shook  hands  with  his  old  boss.  McKay  con- 
tinued to  swing  his  arm  up  and  down,  as 
though  this  grip  were  his  one  hold  upon  the 
world  of  realities. 

"You!  How  on  earth  did  it  happen?  You 
must  have  been  a  heap  wiser  than  I  thought!" 
exclaimed  McKay. 

The  only  danger  of  being  thought  wise  is 
that  one  is  tempted  to  prove  it;  but  Stephen 
safely  avoided  this  danger. 

"Anyhow,  Mac,"  he  answered,  "here  I  am 
and  here  I  hope  I  '11  remain,  and  there  is  a  lot 
of  work  for  you  to  do  here.  Things  have  been 
allowed  to  deteriorate  to  such  an  extent  that  it 
takes  more  time  to  rebuild  than  it  must  have 
taken  to  construct  the  whole  plant.  Fortunately 
we  have  the  original  plans  designed  by  the 
people  who  had  opened  the  mine,  and  though 
they  are  no  key  to  what  has  been  done,  they 
give  a  pretty  good  idea  of  what  was  meant  to 
be  done."  As  he  spoke  he  pulled  a  roll  of  blue 
prints  out  from  the  desk  drawer,  and  drawing 
up  a  chair  beside  him  for  McKay,  he  started 
to  outline  the  work. 

As  he  watched  the  unerring  way  in  which 
234 


THE  UP  GRADE 

McKay's  clumsily  shaped  finger  followed  the 
designs,  stopping  at  each  questionable  point 
and  rubbing  back  and  forth  over  it  with  the 
determined  questioning  of  a  hand  competent 
to  remedy  defects,  Loring  thanked  heaven  for 
the  fact  that  the  Quentin  Company,  their  rush 
of  early  work  over,  had  parted  with  such  a 
man.  The  very  twitching  of  the  corners  of 
McKay's  mustache,  as  he  pored  over  the 
papers,  showed  a  personality  teeming  with  suc- 
cess and  energy.  After  an  hour  of  hard  work 
Stephen  pushed  back  his  chair  from  the  desk 
and  rolled  up  the  prints. 

"I'm  afraid,  Mac,"  he  said,  "that  you  are 
going  to  be  very  busy  here.  You  see  I  know 
how  good  a  man  you  are.  But  I  also  realize 
that  after  your  journey  you  must  eat,  and  that 
you  will  want  to  see  your  quarters." 

He  called  Reade  into  the  room  and  intro- 
duced him.  "Take  Mr.  McKay  and  show  him 
where  he  is  to  live.  Put  him  in  that  new  shack 
on  the  right-hand  side  of  the  road."  With  a 
sudden  recollection  of  McKay's  treatment  of 
him  on  that  first  night  at  Quentin,  Stephen 
went  on  with  a  broad  grin :  "  To-night  I  will 
send  you  over  some  blankets.  You  can  pay 
235 


THE  UP  GRADE 

for  them  out  of  your  first  month's  pay,  and 
to-morrow  I  will  let  you  have  an  old  straw 
hat  of  mine." 

McKay  smiled  sheepishly,  as  he  stood  twirl- 
ing his  rusty  black  felt  hat  in  his  fingers.  Accus- 
tomed as  he  was  to  the  sudden  changes  which 
Arizona  brings  about  in  men's  fortunes,  Lor- 
ing's  meteoric  rise  was  too  great  a  problem  for 
him  to  solve.  He  could  not  adjust  himself  to 
the  miraculous  change  which  had  been  wrought 
in  the  life  of  the  man  before  him.  He  could 
only  stand  speechless  and  gaze  at  the  marvel, 
and  then  drop  his  eyes  again  to  the  baggy 
knees  of  his  best  trousers. 

Stephen  took  pity  on  him  in  his  bewilderment 
and  interrupted  his  reflections:  "If  you  can 
start  in  to  work  after  lunch,  I  will  have  Mr. 
Fitz,  the  man  who  is  leaving,  show  you  what 
little  he  has  done.  You  had  better  take  a  micro- 
scope to  see  it  with." 

McKay  followed  Reade  out  of  the  office,  his 
efficient,  right-angled  and  non-complex  mind 
in  a  whirl. 

"  Steve  Loring,  manager  of  the  Kay  mine ! 
I  certainly  will  be  damned.  Him  running  all 
this!"  He  gazed  stupefied  at  the  ordered  con- 
236 


THE  UP  GRADE 

fusion  of  the  busy  camp  before  him.  "Steve 
Loring!  Phew!" 

And  all  the  time  the  man  of  whom  McKay 
was  thinking  with  admiring  envy  sat  before 
his  desk,  his  head  sunk  upon  his  folded  arms 
in  an  attitude  of  profound  dejection. 

To  McKay,  Loring  seemed  to  have  reached 
the  highest  level  of  the  up  grade  in  being  the 
manager  of  a  successful  mine.  What  more 
could  any  man  wish  ?  But  to  Loring  all  that 
he  had  achieved  was  as  nothing. 

The  sight  of  McKay  had  brought  back  with 
photographic  vividness  all  the  familiar  things 
and  scenes  of  the  old  days  at  Quentin,  —  the 
smelter,  the  dip  in  the  hills,  the  hoist,  "Muy 
Bueno"  and  then,  in  spite  of  himself,  above 
them  all  rose  the  face  of  Jean  Cameron,  Jean 
as  she  had  looked  bending  over  his  cot  in  the 
hospital  with  the  sheaf  of  flowers  across  her 
arm,  Jean  smiling  at  him  as  she  passed  the 
hoist,  Jean  stretching  out  her  hand  to  him  on 
that  never-to-be-forgotten  ride  through  the  soft 
Arizona  night. 

With  a  sudden  pang  he  realized  that  all  suc- 
cess would  be  as  dust  and  ashes  unless  he  could 
bring  it  to  her  and  say :  "Whatever  I  have  won, 
237 


THE  UP  GRADE 

it  was  all  for  you.  My  only  pride  is  that  whether 
you  ever  know  it  or  not,  I  have  at  last  justified 
your  faith  in  me.  Oh,  Jean,"  he  murmured, 
"it  is  not  success  or  power  or  money  that  I  want. 
It  is  you,  dear,  you,  you,  you ! " 


238 


CHAPTER  XV 

AT    four  o'clock  that  afternoon,   since  it 
was  Saturday,  the  men  were  paid  off 
for  the  week.    No  pay  day  will  ever  be 
satisfactory  to  the  recipients  until   that   happy 
state    of   affairs    is    reached    when    each    man 
himself  decides  on  the   amount  which   is  due 
him.     Even  then  there  will  be  some  who  will 
leave   the    pay-window   with    the    discontented 
feeling  that  they  have  cheated  themselves. 

The   bookkeeper,   from    his    grated  window, 
gave  out  the  pay  checks  to  the  line  of  Mexican 
laborers    who,   displaying    their    brass  number 
tags,  passed  before  him.    He  kept  up  a  run- 
ning fire  of  argument.     Over  and  over  he  was 
obliged  to  explain  the  amounts  of  the  checks. 
"The  mess  bill  comes  out  of  you." 
"You  had  twenty  dollars'  worth  of  coupons 
at  the  store." 

"No,  you  only  worked  five  days  this  week." 
"Hospital  fee  is  twenty-five  cents." 
These  were  fair  samples  of  the  innumerable 
239 


THE  UP  GRADE 

arguments  which  he  was  compelled  to  go 
through  with  every  week.  And  in  spite  of  all 
explanations,  the  poor  miners  would  walk 
away  from  the  window,  looking  with  dejected, 
unbelieving  eyes  at  the  small  figures  of  their 
checks.  Men  of  this  class  can  never  realize 
that  if  out  of  wages  of  ninety  dollars  a  month 
they  spend  seventy-five  for  food  and  store  cou- 
pons, the  balance  due  to  them  is  not  ninety 
dollars,  but  fifteen. 

As  usual  on  pay  day  afternoon,  in  the  road 
before  the  office,  little  groups  of  men  were 
arguing  excitedly  among  themselves,  discussing 
the  manner  in  which  they  were  "cheated." 
The  dejected  droop  of  their  shoulders  was  ac- 
centuated by  the  quick,  jerky  movements  of 
their  arms  as  they  gesticulated. 

Knowlton,  the  deputy  sheriff,  who  was  as- 
signed to  Kay,  sat  on  the  steps  before  the  office 
door.  He  was  rolling  a  cigarette,  seemingly 
unconscious  of  the  noisy  crowd.  But  pay  day 
was  always  likely  to  cause  trouble,  and  he  was 
prepared  for  it. 

The  group  of  excited  men  augmented  fast, 
as  little  knots  of  miners  were  paid  off,  and 
found  awaiting  them  a  willing  audience  of  their 
240 


No  one  quite  dared  to  lead  an  attack  upon  Knowlton,  who 
stood  his  ground  beside  the  h^pdy."      Page  241 


THE  UP  GRADE 

grievances.  A  word  will  fire  a  crowd  of  this 
kind  as  quickly  as  a  fuse  will  set  off  a  charge 
of  giant  powder. 

Knowlton  watched  them  closely,  out  of  the 
corner  of  his  eye.  He  saw  one  of  the  leaders 
in  the  discussion  stoop  down  and  pick  up  a 
large  rock. 

"Hey,  Rigas !  Drop  that,  quick!"  he 
shouted. 

For  answer  the  rock  crashed  through  the 
glass  of  the  office  window. 

Knowlton  waded  into  the  midst  of  the  crowd, 
and  seized  Rigas  by  the  collar,  almost  hurling 
him  off  his  feet.  His  rough  tactics  generally 
overawed  his  prisoners,  but  Rigas  had  been 
drinking,  and  fought.  The  crowd  began  to 
close  in. 

Knowlton  dropped  his  hand  to  the  point 
where  the  suspenders  joined  his  belt  and 
whipped  out  his  "  automatic."  Raising  it 
in  the  air,  he  swung  it  down  with  all  his 
strength  upon  Rigas's  head.  There  was  a 
stunning  report,  and  the  miner  lay  upon  the 
ground,  with  a  hole  two  inches  wide  through 
his  forehead.  The  crowd,  muttering  angry 
curses,  drew  back.  No  one  quite  dared  to  lead 
16  241 


THE  UP  GRADE 

an  attack  upon  Knowlton,  who  stood  his  ground 
beside  the  body,  his  still  smoking  gun  in  his 
hand.  The  camp  doctor  came  up  on  the  run, 
having  heard  the  sound  of  the  report.  Kneel- 
ing beside  the  body,  he  gave  short  and  incisive 
directions. 

"Valrigo,  Peres,  Gonzales,  and  Escallerra; 
you  four  carry  him  over  to  the  hospital ! " 

The  four  men  whom  he  had  designated  bent 
over  and  clumsily  raised  the  inanimate  body. 

"No,  no,"  said  the  doctor,  "don't  let  his 
head  hang  back.  Here,  Valencella !  Come 
and  hold  up  his  head.  That  is  right.  Now 
slowly  with  him,  boys ;  easy,  don't  jolt  him  ! " 

The  doctor  walked  beside  the  bearers,  his 
hand  on  Rigas's  heart,  which  for  a  wonder  was 
still  beating.  Behind  them  fell  in  a  sullen, 
straggling,  pushing  procession  of  the  other  men, 
watching  the  blood  drip  from  Rigas's  head. 

Then  Knowlton  turned,  and  walked  slowly 
into  the  office.  As  he  entered,  the  volume  of 
curses  changed  from  a  mutter  to  a  roar.  He 
found  Loring  on  his  knees,  locking  the  com- 
bination of  the  safe. 

"Well,  Mr.  Loring,  I  've  done  it  now.  I  've 
killed  Rigas.  These  damned  automatics !  You 
242 


THE  UP  GRADE 

can  beat  a  man  over  the  head  for  a  week  with 
a  Colt  without  its  going  off." 

"Too  bad  !  "  said  Stephen  calmly,  rising  from 
his  knees.  "  But  the  character  of  Rigas  was  not 
such  that  he  will  be  a  great  loss  to  the  world. 
He  was  always  causing  some  sort  of  mischief.'* 

"It  ain't  Rigas  that  I  am  worrying  about," 
said  the  deputy.  "It 's  the  rest  of  them." 

"  How  long  can  you  hold  them  in  check  ? " 
asked  Stephen. 

"  If  they  were  sober,  I  could  hold  them  until 
hell  froze,  but  they  have  just  been  paid  off, 
and  by  night  they  will  all  be  drunk.  Then  there 
will  be  trouble.  It  has  been  brewin'  for  a  week. 
Some  agitator  chap  has  been  talking  it  up  to 
them  about  the  way  the  Company  was  stealing 
from  them.  I  don't  jest  know  what  we  had 
better  do,"  he  concluded,  while  he  fingered 
his  gun  nervously,  and  looked  to  Loring  for 
guidance. 

"Rigas  is  dead,  you  said  ?"   asked  Stephen. 

"Well,  not  exactly.  He  might  as  well  be, 
though.  A  forty-five  calibre  hole  through  your 
head  ain't  healthy.  If  he  ain't  dead  now,  he 
won't  live  more  than  a  few  hours.  And  when 
he  does  die  — !"  Knowlton  broke  off  gloomily. 
243 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it,  Mr. 
Loring?" 

"We  can  only  wait,"  answered  Loring. 
"We  must  not  let  them  see  that  we  are  anxious." 

"Ain't  you  going  to  do  nothing?"  Knowlton 
looked  at  Loring  in  perfect  amazement. 

Stephen  smiled,  and  shook  his  head.  "No, 
I  am  going  to  supper.  I  would  advise  you  to 
eat  at  the  mess  to-night,  instead  of  at  your  shack. 
I  am  afraid  that  at  present  you  are  not  exactly 
popular." 

He  walked  off  towards  the  eating-house, 
while  Knowlton  stood  looking  after  him  blankly. 

"He  don't  realize  that  in  about  three  hours 
after  those  men  get  to  drinking,  the  Kay  mine 
won't  exist.  If  we  had  a  real  man  in  charge 
here,  we  might  do  something  about  it.  He 
thinks,  I  suppose,  that  because  the  men  like 
him  there  won't  be  trouble.  Hell !  and  I  used 
to  think  he  had  sense!"  Knowlton  almost 
snorted  in  his  rage. 

At  supper  every  man  was  keyed  to  a  high 
pitch  of  excitement.  There  were  only  about 
twenty  white  men  in  camp,  and  though  they 
were  well  armed,  the  Mexicans  outnumbered 
them  more  than  fifteen  to  one.  Stephen  alone 
244 


THE  UP  GRADE 

refrained  from  joining  in  the  flurry  of  question 
and  conjecture  which  whirled  about  the  table. 
Although  he  seemed  unmoved,  a  close  observer 
would  have  noticed  that  he  gripped  his  knife 
and  fork  almost  as  if  they  had  been  weapons. 
Wah  slid  his  plate  of  soup  before  him,  at  the 
same  time  patting  him  on  the  shoulder  with 
affectionate  interest. 

"Me  bludder  like  one  owl,"  he  said. 

"Hey,  Wah,  this  soup  is  rotten!"  called  a 
young  fellow  from  the  end  of  the  table. 

"Oh,  lubbly,  lubbly  soup!"  chanted  Wah. 
"Lubbly,  me  bludder,  lubbly." 

"  I  'm  not  your  bludder,  Wah,"  answered  the 
man  politely.  "I  would  rather  have  an  ape  for 
a  brother  than  you." 

"You  me  bludder,  allee  samee,  allee  samee." 
Saying  which,  Wah  disappeared  into  the  kitchen, 
only  to  stick  his  head  a  moment  later  through 
the  connecting  window,  and  call:  "Oh,  you 
pig-faced  Swede,  Oh,  you  pig-faced  Swede  !  La, 
la,  boom,  boom !" 

But  even  Wah  was  unable  to  break  the  ten- 
sion that  surrounded  the  supper.  As  the  men 
were  lighting  their  pipes  at  the  close  of  the  meal, 
from  the  gulch  behind  the  camp  where  were 
245 


THE  UP  GRADE 

the  saloons,  came  the  sound  of  a  fusillade  of 
shots  and  a  burst  of  shrill  yelling. 

"The  game  is  on,"  thought  Loring. 

As  the  noise  outside  became  louder,  Stephen 
said  to  the  men :  "  I  want  all  you  fellows  to 
get  your  guns  and  go  over  into  the  office  to 
guard  the  safe.  Go  as  quietly  as  you  can  so 
as  not  to  stir  things  up.  Keep  quiet  in  there 
and  don't  shoot  unless  you  are  compelled  to. 
We  have  just  issued  some  new  stock,  and  if 
there  is  news  of  any  fighting  here  the  value  will 
go  all  to  pieces.  We  must  just  wait,  and  keep 
quiet.  Remember  a  fight  means  almost  ruin, 
and  we  have  got  to  avoid  it." 

Knowlton  looked  quickly  over  to  McKay, 
and  nodded.  Both  were  experienced  men, 
and  they  knew  that  now  was  no  time  to  think 
of  stock  values,  but  of  actually  saving  the  mine, 
and  the  lives  of  the  white  men  there.  They 
knew  that  serious  trouble  was  intended,  as 
since  the  shooting,  every  outlet  of  the  camp  had 
been  guarded  by  Mexicans.  They  knew  that 
the  only  chance,  not  for  avoiding  a  fight,  but 
for  avoiding  a  massacre,  lay  in  an  immediate 
attack  on  the  Mexicans,  before  they  were  com- 
pletely out  of  hand.  And  Loring  was  thinking 
246 


THE  UP  GRADE 

of  stock  values !  Still,  they  remembered  that 
he  was  inexperienced,  and  they  set  down  to 
indecision  what  seemed  like  criminal  folly. 
As  for  McKay,  he  had  known  Loring  to  fall 
once  before,  and  he  was  not  hopeful  for  the 
outcome. 

"Knowlton,"  continued  Loring,  "you  had 
better  stay  here  with  me.  It  won't  do  for  the 
miners  to  think  that  you  are  hidden." 

"Well,  I  won't  be,"  exclaimed  Knowlton 
decisively.  "There  is  only  one  thing  in  this 
world  that  I  am  afraid  of,  and  that  is  a  fool!" 

The  men  hurried  to  their  tents  to  procure 
their  firearms.  From  the  window  of  the  mess 
Stephen  watched  them,  as  one  by  one  they 
returned  and  slipped  into  the  darkened  office. 
Then  he  stepped  out  on  the  porch,  and  seated 
himself  beneath  the  full  glare  of  the  hanging 
electric  light.  Knowlton,  with  a  dogged  ex- 
pression on  his  face,  seated  himself  on  the  steps. 
Another  man  came  and  joined  them.  It  was 
McKay. 

"Let  me  stay  here  with  you,  Steve,"  he  said 
gruffly. 

'Thank  you!"    replied  Stephen.     Then  he 
relapsed  into  silence. 

247 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Sitting  with  his  watch  beside  him  on  the  arm 
of  the  chair,  and  smoking  furiously,  his  eye 
traveled  to  Knowlton,  and  dwelt  on  the  brown 
oiled  butt  of  the  latter's  "automatic,"  an  odd- 
shaped  lump  against  the  white  of  his  shirt. 

"That  was  the  first  time  I  ever  killed  a  man 
by  accident,"  murmured  Knowlton,  half  to 
himself.  "The  Doc '  said  after  supper  that 
Rigas  might  possibly  live  another  hour." 

"An  hour,  did  you  say?"  asked  Loring. 
Then  again  he  sat  in  silence,  staring  intently 
at  his  watch. 

"Quarter  past  eight.  He  has  lived  more 
than  an  hour  since  supper." 

From  the  valley,  seven  miles  away,  came 
softly  the  whistle  of  the  evening  train.  The 
noise  in  camp  was  continually  increasing  in 
volume.  Groups  of  miners  went  by  the  mess 
shouting,  singing,  and  whooping  derisively. 
Every  now  and  then  the  babel  of  voices  was 
punctuated  by  shots  fired  in  rapid  succession 
as  some  one  emptied  his  gun  in  the  air. 

By  the  hospital  a  silent  group  was  waiting, 
waiting  for  Rigas  to  die. 

The  men  on  the  porch  watched  that  sinister 
mass  with  apprehension.  The  effect  was  far 
248 


THE  UP  GRADE 

more  suggestive  than  that  of  the  noisier  por- 
tion of  the  camp. 

Suddenly  the  mass  of  men  by  the  hospital 
stirred,  heaved,  and  moved.  From  a  hundred 
throats  came  a  dull  roar. 

"Rigas  is  dead,"  said  Loring,  shutting  his 
watch  with  a  snap. 

The  crowd  of  men  by  the  hospital  began  to 
roll  towards  the  mess.  As  a  huge  swell  rolls  in 
from  the  sea,  so  the  black  mass,  swaying,  rising, 
falling,  swept  on.  As  it  drew  nearer,  the  white 
of  the  men's  faces  stood  out  in  the  glare  of  the 
electric  lights  even  as  the  foam  upon  that 
wave. 

"Put  out  the  poroh  lights!  "  yelled  Knowlton. 

"I  am  manager  here,  and  they  stay  lit," 
shouted  Loring  back  to  him. 

Even  as  the  surf  curls  before  breaking  and 
sweeping  up  the  beach,  so  the  wave  of  men 
seemed  to  rise  and  draw  itself  together,  before 
surging  up  the  steps. 

Stephen  had  stepped  forward  to  the  edge  of 
the  steps  in  front  of  Knowlton.  He  raised  his 
fist  for  silence,  and  such  was  the  compelling 
force  in  his  eyes  that  for  a  moment  he  was 
obeyed.  But  as  he  started  to  speak,  a  great 
249 


THE  UP  GRADE 

hiss  arose  from  the  crowd,  like  the  sound  of 
escaping  steam  from  some  giant  locomotive. 
Loring  gripped  the  railing  of  the  porch  hard, 
and  again  shouted  something. 

"  God,  he 's  crazy ! "  yelled  Knowlton  to 
McKay.  "He  is  going  to  try  and  argue." 
Knowlton's  hand  lay  tightly  on  the  gun  in  his 
belt. 

"Steve  has  lost  his  head  again,"  thought 
McKay  bitterly.  "I  might  have  known  that 
he  did  n't  have  the  stuff  in  him." 

A  bottle  whizzed  by  Loring's  ear,  breaking 
with  a  crash  against  the  wall  behind  him.  For 
an  instant  the  sound  of  breaking  glass  caught 
the  attention  of  the  crowd. 

"You  want  the  money  in  the  safe  ?"  shouted 
Loring. 

"£/,  sty  yes,  H,  yes,  si!"  roared  the  crowd,  in 
a  mixture  of  two  languages. 

The  sound  lulled  for  a  second.  Stephen 
waved  his  keys  in  the  air.  "You  shall  have  it." 

The  shouting  was  wilder  than  before,  and 
echoed  from  end  to  end  of  the  camp. 

"  Coward ! "  moaned  McKay,  sickened  by 
such  an  exhibition.  Some  one  in  the  crowd 
fired  at  Loring,  luckily  with  drunken  aim. 
250 


THE  UP  GRADE 

The  bullet  kicked  up  the  dust  at  the  foot  of 
the  steps.  Knowlton  jumped  to  his  feet,  and 
leveled  his  gun  at  the  crowd. 

"  Sit  down  ! "  roared  Stephen.  Not  knowing 
why  he  did  so,  Knowlton  lowered  his  gun  and 
sank  again  into  his  chair. 

"Do  you  want  Knowlton  ?"  shouted  Loring, 
pointing  to  the  deputy  beside  him.  As  he  spoke, 
he  glanced  at  his  watch,  which  lay  in  his  hand. 
His  face  was  reeking  with  sweat. 

"  Do  you  want  Knowlton  ? "  he  shouted 
again. 

The  howl  that  went  up  from  the  mob  was  as 
if  from  the  throats  of  blood-hungry  beasts. 

Knowlton's  face  was  white;  but  his  eyes 
showed  their  scorn  of  Loring.  He  looked  at 
him  in  contempt,  and  looking,  to  his  surprise, 
saw  the  tense  lines  of  his  face  light  with  the  gleam 
of  victory. 

"  You  want  Knowlton  ? "  he  shouted  for  the 
last  time.  "Then  come*and  take  him  !" 

As  the  mob  surged  up  the  steps,  a  body  of 
horsemen  charged  them  fiercely  from  behind. 
Right  and  left  galloped  the  riders,  beating  the 
mob  over  the  heads  with  their  Winchesters, 
or  cutting  them  with  their  quirts,  riding  down 
251 


THE  UP  GRADE 

men  beneath  the  weight  of  their  horses.  The 
mob  scattered  and  fled  in  every  direction.  The 
leader  of  the  horsemen  swung  out  of  the  saddle 
in  front  of  the  steps,  and  Winchester  in  hand, 
walked  up  to  Loring. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Loring?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,"  answered  Stephen. 

"Well,  it  seems  as  if  we  were  just  in  time  — 
not  much  too  early,  are  we  ?  We  just  got  your 
telegram  in  Dominion  in  time  to  raise  a  big 
posse,  and  pack  them  onto  the  evening  train. 
It  was  about  the  liveliest  job  that  I  ever  did, 
and  I  reckon  it  is  one  of  the  best,"  said  the 
sheriff,  surveying  the  scene  with  satisfaction. 
"  How  did  the  trouble  start  anyhow  ? "  he 
asked. 

Stephen  explained  rapidly.  At  the  conclusion, 
the  sheriff  turned  to  Knowlton :  "  Killed  him 
by  accident,  eh  ?  Too  bad  you  did  n't  have 
the  pleasure  of  meaning  to.  Now  I  guess  we  'd 
better  clean  up  the  camp  a  bit,  had  n't  we,  Mr. 
Loring?" 

Stephen  agreed,  and  the  sheriff  sent  his 
deputies  in  groups  of  twos  and  threes,  to  raid 
the  tents  of  the  Mexicans,  and  gather  in  their 
arms. 

252 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Knowlton  approached  Loring  in  a  stupefied 
manner. 

"When  could  you  have  telegraphed?"  he 
asked.  r'They  have  been  guarding  the  roads 
ever  since  the  shooting." 

Stephen  smiled.  "When  you  jumped  into 
that  crowd,  Knowlton,  I  sent  Reade  out  through 
the  back  window  of  the  office  to  send  a  tele- 
gram for  help,  and  to  get  horses  for  them  ready 
at  the  station  camp." 

A  light  broke  over  McKay's  face.  Walking 
up  to  Loring,  he  laid  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"By  God,  Steve,  I  am  proud  of  you!"  he 
said.  Then  turning  to  the  arc  light  which  hung 
from  the  ceiling  of  the  porch,  he  addressed  it 
softly:  "And  that's  the  man  we  fired!" 


253 


CHAPTER  XVI 

IN  the  middle  of  the  following  September, 
Radlett  arrived  in  Tucson  from  the  East. 
He  was  on  his  way  to  pay  his  first  visit  to 
his  property  in  Kay,  since  Stephen  had  taken 
charge.  As  he  signed  his  name  on  the  hotel 
register,  his  eye  was  caught  by  the  names  of  the 
arrivals  of  the  day  before. 

"Donald  Cameron." 

"Miss  Cameron." 

A  flush  came  to  his  cheeks  and  a  light  to  his 
eyes  as  he  looked  steadily  at  the  page.  Strange 
what  power  a  written  word  may  have  to  stir 
a  man  to  the  depths  of  his  being !  As  Radlett 
read  the  names,  he  felt  the  years  slip  away  from 
him.  Five,  six  years  was  it  since  that  summer 
at  Bar  Harbor  when  he  and  Jean  Cameron  had 
climbed  together  about  the  cliffs  of  the  spouting 
horn  or,  staff  in  hand,  had  explored  Duck 
Brook  or  floated  idly  in  his  canoe  around  the 
islands  in  the  harbor  ?  Like  Loring  he  had 
dreamed  his  dream  of  what  might  be.  By  the 
254 


THE  UP  GRADE 

end  of  the  summer  he  knew  it  was  only  a  dream 
of  what  might  have  been.  He  carried  away 
with  him  an  ideal,  an  aching  heart,  and  a  knot 
of  ribbon  of  the  Cameron  plaid.  But  he  was 
a  man  of  too  much  force  and  energy  to  spend 
his  life  in  bewailing  the  past.  He  had  shut  the 
knot  of  ribbon  in  a  secret  drawer,  set  the  ideal 
in  a  shrine,  and  flung  his  heart  into  business 
with  such  success  that  to-day,  while  he  was  still 
a  young  man,  he  was  already  a  power  to  be 
reckoned  with  in  the  financial  world,  while  a 
golden  career  opened  ahead  of  him. 

A  man  so  loyal  in  his  friendship  could  not  be 
other  than  loyal  in  his  love;  but  he  had  put  the 
possibility  of  winning  Jean  Cameron  definitely 
out  of  his  mind,  and  he  would  have  sworn  that 
the  years  had  reduced  the  fever  of  his  feeling 
to  a  genial  tranquillity  of  friendship,  when  now 
at  the  very  sight  of  her  name  on  a  hotel  register, 
all  his  philosophy  was  put  to  flight  and  he  was 
conscious  only  of  a  burning  desire  to  see  her 
once  more. 

Being  a  man  of  action,  he  wasted  no  time 

on  reminiscence;   but  inquired  in  quick  incisive 

terms  whether  Mr.  Cameron  and  his  daughter 

were  still  at  the  hotel.    Learning  that  they  were, 

255 


THE  UP  GRADE 

he  sent  up  his  card.  Then  he  lighted  a  cigarette 
and  walked  the  floor  of  the  lobby,  smoking  ner- 
vously till  the  bell-boy  returned  to  say  that 
Mr.  Cameron  would  be  glad  to  receive  him  in 
his  private  sitting-room.  Before  following  the 
boy,  Radlett  stopped  at  the  desk  to  arrange  for 
his  room  and  get  his  key. 

"How  good  a  room  do  you  wish,  sir,  and 
how  long  will  you  stay  ? " 

"The  best  you  have,  and  as  long  as  I  choose," 
Radlett  answered  with  characteristic  brevity. 
A  moment  later  he  stood  before  the  door  of  the 
Camerons'  sitting-room,  which  opened  at  his 
knock  to  reveal  Mr.  Cameron's  bristling  red 
head  in  the  foreground,  and  in  the  background 
a  figure  in  a  traveling  dress  of  gray  cloth,  with 
a  hat  to  match  and  a  knot  of  plaided  ribbon 
under  the  brim. 

At  sight  of  Radlett,  Jean  rose,  smiling,  but 
with  a  slight  consciousness  in  her  manner,  a 
consciousness  resulting  from  the  remembrance 
of  a  painful  scene,  the  hope  that  the  man  be- 
fore her  had  quite  forgiven  and  the  slighter 
hope,  a  mere  faint  ashamed  shadow  of  a  hope, 
that  he  had  not  quite  forgotten. 

Her  mind  must  have  been  quickly  set  at 
256 


THE  UP  GRADE 

rest  on  that  point,  for  such  a  rush  of  feeling 
swept  over  Radlett  that  he  could  scarcely  make 
his  greetings  intelligible.  Mr.  Cameron  gave 
him  a  firm  grip,  and  Jean  held  out  a  gray  gloved 
hand  which  Radlett  clasped  tremulously.  Mr. 
Cameron  looked  at  the  man  and  girl  as  they 
stood  talking  together,  and  the  longer  he  looked 
the  better  he  liked  the  combination. 

"There  would  be  a  son-in-law  to  be  proud 
of,"  he  thought,  naturally  enough  perhaps  con- 
sidering him  in  that  relation  first.  "  Baird  Rad- 
lett has  everything  that  a  girl  could  ask,  —  a 
hard  head,  a  long  purse,  a  free  hand  and  an 
endless  stock  of  common  sense.  And  then,  if 
I  had  him  to  help  me,  what  a  property  I  could 
build  up !  He  used  to  seem  devoted  to  Jean. 
But  she  could  not  have  refused  him  —  no,  and 
by  heaven  she  should  not."  (Mr.  Cameron 
liked  to  keep  up  even  to  himself  the  illusion  that 
he  was  a  tyrannical  parent  whose  will  was  law.) 
"  Rather  different  this  man  from  Loring !  Jean 
must  see  that.  If  she  does  not,  she  must  be 
made  to  see  it.  I  was  afraid  at  one  time  that 
she  might  be  foolish  enough  to  fall  in  love  with 
Loring;  but  I  took  it  in  time  —  I  took  it  in 
time.  Yet  she  is  too  efficient  not  to  make  some 
17  257 


THE  UP  GRADE 

one  big  mistake  in  her  life.  We  Camerons  all 
do  it  sooner  or  later.  If  it  is  not  one  thing  it  is 
another  —  misdirected  energy,  I  suppose  — 
Then  aloud,  in  answer  to  a  question  from  Rad- 
lett  as  to  how  he  happened  to  be  in  that  part  of 
the  world:  "Why,  about  a  year  and  a  half  ago 
I  became  interested  in  a  mine  in  Arizona  which 
was  not  being  run  properly,  and  so  for  the 
present  I  am  giving  up  my  time  to  managing  it 
myself." 

"And  have  you  too  become  a  mining  en- 
gineer ?"  Radlett  asked  of  Jean. 

"Not  quite,"  she  laughed. 

"Jean  came  rather  near  it  at  first,"  added 
her  father;  "but  I  think  that  now  she  is  half 
tired  of  the  life  out  here.  It  has  not  the  charm 
for  her  that  it  had  at  first." 

"I  should  think  not!"  exclaimed  Radlett 
emphatically.  "Do  you  mean  that  you  have 
spent  a  whole  year  out  in  the  hills  here?"  he 
asked  Jean. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "This  trip  marks  the 
first  time  that  I  have  been  back  to  the  East 
since  last  fall;  but  I  have  not  yet  become  such 
a  savage  that  I  can  dispense  with  afternoon 
tea.  I  hope  you  will  join  us,"  she  added. 

258 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Yes,  with  thanks,"  Radlett  answered.  Up 
to  this  moment  he  had  never  found  any  use  for 
Tucson.  Now  he  discovered  that  it  existed  to 
hold  a  tea-table  and  Jean  Cameron. 

"What  brings  you  to  Tucson,  Baird?"  she 
asked,  while  the  waiter  laid  the  cloth. 

"I  am  in  the  mining  business  myself,  in  a 
small  way,"  he  rejoined.  "Last  year  I  bought 
a  property  in  Final  County  on  speculation.  I 
am  going  up  to  visit  it  now  for  the  first  time. 
I  do  not  really  need  to  go.  In  fact  I  shall  prob- 
ably do  more  harm  than  good.  I  have  a  manager 
up  there  who  has  accomplished  wonders.  He 
has  made  the  mine  pay  in  six  months  after  he 
took  control.  As  far  as  I  can  learn,  he  has  done 
practically  everything  himself,  from  mining  the 
ore  to  putting  it  on  the  cars.  I  bought  the  mine 
at  a  big  risk,  and  now  it  is  about  the  most  satis- 

O  7 

factory  investment  that  I  own." 

"I  wish  that  I  had  such  a  man  to  put  in 
charge  of  Quentin.  When  I  am  not  there  the 

o  ***• 

whole  plant  seems  to  go  to  pieces." 

"Quentin!"  exclaimed  Radlett  in  surprise. 
"Is  that  the  name  of  your  property  ?" 

"It  is,"  said  Mr.  Cameron.  "Why?  Had 
you  ever  heard  of  it  ?" 

259 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Radlett  opened  his  lips  to  speak;  but  the 
arrival  of  the  tea  turned  the  subject  of  conversa- 
tion for  the  moment.  As  he  watched  Jean  pour- 
ing the  tea  all  thoughts  of  mines  and  business 
vanished  from  Radlett's  mind.  He  wondered 
how  he  had  ever  existed  throughout  the  years 
in  which  he  had  not  seen  her. 

While  Jean  Cameron  talked  to  Radlett,  she 
glanced  at  him  over  her  teacup  with  that  in- 
terest which  a  girl  naturally  bestows  upon  a 
man  who  might  have  been  a  part  of  her  life 
had  she  so  willed  it.  In  the  past  year  the  stand- 
ards by  which  she  judged  men  had  changed 
considerably.  She  had  much  more  regard  for 
the  qualities  of  steadiness  and  determination 
which  Baird  possessed  than  she  had  felt  at  the 
time  when  she  refused  him.  From  her  widened 
experiences  she  had  learned  that  ability  with- 
out reliability  was  useless.  Perhaps,  too,  now 
that  disappointment  in  her  new  surroundings 
had  set  in,  she  looked  back  with  more  tender- 
ness upon  those  who  had  peopled  her  life  in  the 
East. 

The  talk  ranged  over  many  scenes  and  peo- 
ple familiar  to  them  all,  then  gradually  drifted 
to  the  plans  of  each  for  the  future.  Baird's 
260 


THE  UP  GRADE 

mind  had  been  working  fast.  Seeing  Jean  for 
an  hour  had  made  him  wish  to  see  her  for  many 
more  hours,  and  by  the  time  that  he  had  finished 
his  second  cup  of  tea,  he  had  evolved  a  plan  by 
which  he  hoped  to  achieve  that  end.  If  he 
could  persuade  Mr.  Cameron,  when  on  his  way 
to  Quentin,  to  stop  over  at  Kay,  and  to  make 
an  expert  report  on  the  property,  it  would 
enable  him  to  have  at  least  a  week  more  with 
Jean.  Turning  to  Mr.  Cameron,  he  approached 
him  on  the  subject. 

"I  wish  very  much  that  I  could  persuade  you 
to  stop  over  and  examine  my  property  for  me. 
If  you  had  the  time  I  should  greatly  value  your 
professional  opinion." 

"Where  is  your  mine  situated  ?" 

"At  Kay,"  answered  Radlett.  "I  think  it  is 
on  the  direct  route  to  Quentin." 

"So  you  are  the  man  who  bought  that  prop- 
erty. I  had  not  heard  who  owned  it." 

"Yes,"  said  Baird.  "Now  do  you  think  that 
you  could  possibly  spare  four  or  five  days  to 
investigate  the  place  for  me  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  I  can  possibly  spare 
the  time,"  reflected  Mr.  Cameron,  half  aloud. 
If  it  had  been  any  man  besides  Radlett,  Mr. 
261 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Cameron  would  have  refused  at  once,  as  he 
had  for  some  time  given  up  all  such  work.  But 
he  was  glad  to  do  a  favor  to  Baird,  and  also  he 
felt  that  he  would  like  to  have  him  and  Jean 
thrown  together  for  a  while.  "Still  I  can  get 
in  touch  with  Quentin,  and  if  they  need  me 
there  I  can  get  there  at  short  notice.  Yes,  I 
think  that  I  can  take  the  time.  I  shall  be  in- 
terested to  see  how  the  mine  is  doing  with  this 
wonderful  new  manager  of  yours.  Frankly,  it 
never  used  to  be  much  good." 

"Don't  be  discouraging,  Father!"  said  Jean. 
"You  might  at  least  be  an  optimist  until  you 
have  seen  Baird's  mine." 

"If  your  father  should  be  a  pessimist  after 
seeing  it,  I  should  certainly  give  up  the  mine, 
I  have  such  respect  for  his  judgment." 

Mr.  Cameron  expanded  under  the  compli- 
ment. "By  the  way,  did  you  not  have  a  big 
riot  or  something  up  there  this  spring  ?  I  read 
about  it,  I  think,  in  the  Eastern  papers.  They 
said  that  there  had  been  a  race  riot  in  Kay 
which,  but  for  the  coolness  and  nerve  of  the  man- 
ager, would  have  been  a  desperate  outbreak." 

"Yes,  there  was  a  desperate  state  of  affairs," 
answered  Radlett,  and  he  proceeded  to  give  an 
262 


THE  UP  GRADE 

account  of  the  riot,  the  details  of  which  he  had 
learned  through  a  postscript  added  by  Reade 
to  one  of  Loring's  reports.  When  he  reached 
the  part  of  the  story  which  told  how  the  manager 
had  held  the  mob  at  bay  until  the  arrival  of  the 
deputies,  both  Jean  and  her  father  exclaimed 
with  approval.  Jean's  eyes  were  shining  with 
the  enthusiasm  which  she  always  felt  for  a 
brave  act  well  carried  out. 

"And,"  said  Radlett  in  conclusion,  "since 
then  there  has  not  been  a  hint  of  trouble  in  the 
camp.  In  fact  a  labor  agitator  came  up  there 
last  month,  and  the  men  themselves  ran  him 
out  of  camp." 

"You  certainly  have  a  wonderful  man  there," 
said  Mr.  Cameron.  "If  I  had  chanced  upon 
him  first,  you  would  never  have  had  him.  If 
there  is  one  thing  on  which  I  pride  myself,  it  is 
my  power  to  read  character  at  first  sight.  I 
should  have  snapped  up  a  man  like  that  in  no 
time.  What  is  his  name?" 

"His  name,"  said  Radlett,  "is  Stephen  Lor- 
ing."  He  watched  Mr.  Cameron  closely  as  he 
uttered  the  name,  and  was  amused  to  see  the 
expression  of  blank  dismay  and  astonishment 
upon  that  gentleman's  face. 
263 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Loring!  Stephen  Loring!"  cried  Mr. 
Cameron,  completely  taken  aback. 

"Stephen  Loring,"  repeated  Radlett  doggedly. 

"Why,  we  dismissed  him  from  Quentin 
for—" 

"Father,  don't!"  ejaculated  Jean  suddenly. 
Her  cheeks  burned,  while  her  eyes  pleaded 
with  her  father  to  spare  Loring' s  past.  Rad- 
lett looked  at  her  with  a  quick  glance  of 
appreciation. 

"It  is  all  right,  Jean,"  he  said.  "Loring  told 
me  all  about  it  himself." 

"He  told  you,"  queried  Mr.  Cameron  in- 
credulously, "about  the  accident,  about  his 
drunkenness  and  all;  and  after  that  you  put 
him  in  charge  of  the  mine  ?  How  could  you  ? " 

"I  believed  in  him,"  replied  Radlett  quietly, 
"and  he  has  justified  my  belief.  I  have  known 
him  all  my  life,  and  I  trust  and  respect  him." 

"You  say  that  he  has  made  good  with  you  ?" 
inquired  Mr.  Cameron  sharply. 

"He  has." 

Mr.  Cameron  was  a  man  of  honest  enthu- 
siasms, but  of  equally  honest  hatreds.     When 
a  man  had  once  failed  him,  he  was  loath  to 
believe  that  there  could  be  good  in  him. 
264 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"I  hope  you  will  find  that  he  keeps  it  up," 
was  all  that  he  said.  He  did  not  say  it  with 
complimentary  conviction,  either. 

"He  will,"  Radlett  answered  shortly. 

Jean  was  moved  by  Baird's  faithful  defense 
of  his  friend. 

"It  is  characteristic  of  you  to  stand  by  him  as 
you  have  done,"  she  said,  "and  if  ever  a  man 
needed  a  good  friend,  it  was  Mr.  Loring." 

"You  knew  him  well?"  asked  Radlett,  with 
surprise.  From  what  Loring  had  told  him  of 
his  position  in  camp,  he  had  not  imagined  that 
he  would  know  Miss  Cameron  personally  at  all. 

"He  saved  my  life,"  answered  Jean.  Her 
voice  was  soft,  but  there  was  a  hint  of  challenge 
in  the  glance  that  she  sent  toward  her  father. 

"Saved  your  life!"  ejaculated  Radlett.  "He 
never  said  anything  to  me  about  that.  Just 
like  him  !  He  told  me  only*  of  his  failures." 

"You  have  known  him  all  your  life.  What 
was  he  ?"  asked  Mr.  Cameron.  "Another  case 
of  a  worthless  fellow  whom  every  one  liked  ?" 

"  He  never  was  worthless,"  said  Baird.    "  Only 

until  now  he  never  showed  what  he  was  worth, 

and  never  was  there  a  man  whom  his  friends 

loved  so  much,  to  whom  they  forgave  so  much, 

265 


THE  UP  GRADE 

and    from   whom   they   continued   to   hope    so 
much." 

"He  took  a  peculiar  way  of  showing  his 
worth  with  me,"  remarked  Mr.  Cameron. 
"Really  now,  Radlett,  killing  men  by  your 
carelessness  is  a  pretty  serious  thing.  And 
from  what  I  can  gather,  I  judge  that  for  the 
past  few  years  his  life  has  been  far  from  credit- 
able; that  he  has  been  getting  into  trouble  of 
some  sort  all  the  time.  His  record  shows  that 
he  has  been  permanently  inefficient  and  fre- 
quently drunk." 

"Yes,  it  is  all  true,"  answered  Baird,  "but 
in  all  those  years  he  was  being  hammered  and 
forged,  and  in  the  end  the  experience  has 
strengthened  him.  The  things  that  he  has  gone 
through,  even  the  wrong  things  which  he  has 
done,  all  have  molded  his  character,  and  for 
the  better.  It  was  a  big  risk,  a  big  chance, 
but  by  it  the  metal  in  him  has  been  turned  to 
steel." 

"Is  not  that  rather  an  expensive  process  by 
which  to  obtain  a  product  like  Loring  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Cameron  dryly. 

"I  hope  very  much  that  when  you  see  what 
Loring  has  done  at  Kay,  you  will  change  your 
266 


THE  UP  GRADE 

mind,"  said  Radlett.  "I  understand  of  course 
what  you  must  feel  about  him;  but  I  think 
that  he  has  wiped  his  slate  clean.  If  two  lives 
were  lost  through  him  at  Quentin,  by  prevent- 
ing a  fight  at  Kay  he  has  saved  twenty." 

"Not  to  mention  saving  my  life,"  added  Jean, 
rising. 

"That  alone  should  extenuate  everything," 
said  Radlett  earnestly. 

He  looked  after  Jean  as  she  left  the  room  to 
dress  for  dinner,  admiring  her  proud,  erect 
carriage,  and  devoutly  thankful  that  he  should 
have  several  days  in  which  to  be  with  her. 

When  she  had  gone,  the  two  men  resumed 
their  seats,  and  proceeded  to  discuss  the  plans 
and  business  arrangements  for  Mr.  Cameron's 
prospective  visit  to  Kay.  But  even  while  he 
was  talking,  Mr.  Cameron's  decision  in  regard 
to  the  visit  was  wavering,  and  later,  as  he  went 
upstairs,  he  shook  his  head  and  said  to  himself: 
"No,  I  can't  do  it.  Under  the  circumstances 
that  visit  is  an  impossibility." 

That  night,  when  they  had  come  upstairs 
from  dinner,  he  went  to  Jean's  door  and 
knocked. 

"Jean,"  he  called. 

267 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Yes,  Father." 

"  Can  you  come  into  my  sitting-room  ?  I 
want  to  talk  with  you." 

They  returned  to  his  sitting-room,  and  Jean 
seated  herself  while  her  father  walked  slowly 
up  and  down  the  room. 

"I  have  been  thinking  about  our  going  with 
Baird  up  to  his  mine.  I  told  him  that  we  would 
go;  but  if  this  fellow  Loring  is  the  manager 
there,  I  do  not  think  that  we  can.  I  shall  tell 
Baird  that  we  find  it  impossible." 

"Why  ?"  asked  Jean,  although  she  well  knew 
the  reason. 

"Why?"  echoed  her  father  irritably.  "Do 
you  remember  the  insulting  letter  which  he 
wrote  to  me  after  my  offer  of  help  to  him  at 
Dominion  ?  Do  you  think  it  would  be  a  pleasure 
to  meet  him  again  with  that  letter  in  mind  ?" 

"You  never  told  me  what  you  wrote  in  your 
letter  to  him,"  replied  Jean,  parrying  the 
question. 

"I  offered  him  work  in  the  north  because 
I  said  we  were  under  obligation  to  him  for  sav- 
ing —  That  is,  to  repay  my  debt  to  him." 

"I  suppose  that  you  made  no  conditions  ?" 

"Only  that  he  should  never  cross  our  path 
268 


THE  UP  GRADE 

again,"  responded  her  father.  "Of  course  I 
felt  bound  to  tell  him  what  I  thought  of  him." 

"In  other  words,"  exclaimed  Jean  with 
spirit,  "you  insulted  him,  and  now  are  angry 
that  he  was  gentleman  enough  to  refuse  your 
offer.  When  he  was  practically  starving,  as 
Baird  told  me  he  was,  he  refused  to  take  ad- 
vantage of  an  unwilling  obligation.  Is  that 
why  you  do  not  want  to  go  to  Kay  ? "  There 
was  pride  in  the  quiver  of  her  nostrils,  and  pity 
in  her  eyes,  as  she  spoke. 

Mr.  Cameron,  like  many  strong  men,  was  at 
a  disadvantage  in  an  argument  with  his  daughter. 
Her  strength  of  will  was  as  great  as  his,  and 
with  it  she  combined  an  intuitive  knowledge  of 
whither  to  direct  her  questions,  as  a  good  fencer 
instinctively  knows  the  weak  points  in  his  oppo- 
nent's defense. 

"You  are  trying  to  put  me  in  the  wrong, 
Jean,"  said  her  father  testily,  "but  the  fact  re- 
mains that  we  cannot  go." 

"The  fact  remains,  Father,  that  you  owe  it 
to  yourself  to  go,  not  only  because  you  have 
promised  Baird  "  (here  she  scored  a  strong  point, 
for  the  keeping  of  his  word  was  her  father's 
great  pride),  "but  because  you  owe  it  to  Mr. 
269 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Loring  to  atone  for  the  wrong  that  you  did 
him." 

Mr.  Cameron  was  in  a  quandary.  On  the 
one  side  was  his  desire  not  to  see  Loring  again 
or  to  have  Jean  meet  him;  on  the  other  was 
the  fact  that  he  had  promised  Radlett  and  that 
he  wished  to  have  him  and  Jean  thrown  to- 
gether. With  his  usual  bluntness  he  asked  his 
daughter:  "Jean,  have  you  thought  much  of 
Loring  since  he  left  Quentin  ?" 

"A  great  deal,  Father." 

"Often?" 

"Very  often." 

"Damn  me!  I  was  afraid  of  it.  But  you 
may  as  well  understand  now  that  I  absolutely 
forbid  your  thinking  of  him  any  more." 

"Be  careful,  Father,  that  you  do  not  add  to 
my  real  interest  the  fictitious  one  of  defiance 
which  has  always  been  strong  in  the  Cameron 
blood.  What  I  have  been  thinking  all  these 
months  about  Mr.  Loring  is  that  he  is  a  man 
to  whom  we  are  under  deep  obligation,  and 
one  to  whom  you  have  been  unjust." 

"I  thought,"  said  Mr.  Cameron  helplessly, 
and  foolishly  allowing  his  attack  to  be  changed 
to  defense,  "  that  I  had  done  everything  possible 
270 


THE  UP  GRADE 

for  Loring.  I  do  not  wish  to  be  thought  un- 
grateful to  any  man;  but  that  letter — " 

Jean  was  touched  and  coming  over  to  her 
father,  put  her  arms  around  him  saying:  "Can't 
you  see,  Father  dear,  that  the  letter  he  sent  to 
you  was  the  only  one  which  a  gentleman  could 
write  under  the  circumstances." 

"Perhaps  so,  perhaps,"  answered  Mr.  Cam- 
eron. "And  anyhow,"  he  went  on  rather 
weakly,  "I  have  promised  Baird,  and  Jean,  I 
want  you  to  see  more  of  him.  He  is,  I  think,  of 
all  the  men  whom  I  know,  the  best  and  the 
most  trustworthy.  He  told  me  that  some  time 
ago  you  refused  to  marry  him." 

"Yes,"  said  Jean. 

"  Have  you  ever  changed  at  all  ?  Do  you  not 
like  him  better  than  you  did  ?  He  is  the  man 
of  all  others  whom  I  should  rather  see  you 
marry." 

"I  always  liked  him  and  I  like  him  better 
than  ever  now,"  replied  Jean,  with  her  usual 
frankness.  "Only  it  would  take  me  at  least  a 
week  to  fall  in  love  with  him,"  she  added 
laughing,  as  she  kissed  her  father  and  bade 
him  good  night. 

That  evening  she  sat  up  until  it  was  late, 
271 


THE  UP  GRADE 

thinking.  She  had  begun  to  see  life  in  the  West 
rather  differently  since  her  first  rose-colored 
impressions.  She  was  beginning  to  realize  the 
facts  that  her  father  had  quoted  to  her.  The 
shoddiness  of  that  life  had  begun  to  make  itself 
felt.  She  had  believed  in  Loring  with  all  the 
trust  to  which  a  reserved  nature  yields  itself 
when  it  becomes  impetuous,  and  his  complete 
failure  had  been  a  deep  shock  to  her.  She  had 
not  forgotten  him,  however,  though,  had  she 
analyzed  her  thoughts,  she  would  have  been 
puzzled  to  know  why  he  had  not  passed  from 
her  memory.  Now  that  he  was  to  be  brought 
into  her  life  again,  her  thought  of  him  grew 
deeper  and  more  personal.  She  opened  her 
trunk  and  drew  out  of  it  her  journal  of  the  past 
year.  For  an  hour  she  sat  reading  over  the  pages, 
and  there  were  certain  pages  which  she  reread. 
When  she  closed  the  book*  it  was  close  to  mid- 
night. She  sat  staring  out  of  the  window, 
thinking,  wondering.  The  light  in  her  eyes 
was  like  the  harbor  lights  veiled  by  night  mist 
to  the  mariner  homeward  bound,  —  now  flash- 
ing clear  and  lambent,  now  dim,  brilliant  with 
the  seaward  flash  or  soft  in  the  afterglow. 
At  length  she  rose  as  one  tired  of  thinking; 
272 


THE  UP  GRADE 

but  as  she  brushed  out  the  long  waves  of  her 
hair  she  hummed  softly  the  old  refrain: 

"  Young  Frank  is  chief  of  Errington 
And  lord  o'  Langly  Dale  — 
His  step  is  first  in  peaceful  ha' 
His  sword  in  battle  keen  — 
But  aye  she  let  the  tears  doon  fa' 
For  Jock  o'  Hazeldean." 


18  273 


CHAPTER  XVII 

IN  the  weeks  which  followed  the  settling 
of  the  trouble  in  the  camp,  Kay  flourished 
and  grew.  Great  trainloads  of  supplies 
were  daily  dumped  on  the  platform  of  the 
railway  station,  to  be  checked  off  and  sorted, 
before  the  final  haul  up  to  camp.  The  old 
rough  road  to  the  station  had  become  hard 
and  smooth  by  the  continual  pounding  of 
the  heavy,  six-mule  wagons.  Under  McKay's 
master  direction,  the  framework  bridges  on 
the  route  had  been  replaced  by  substantial 
structures.  Wherever  a  canon  or  gulch  opened, 
sluice  boxes  had  been  buried  beneath  the  road 
surface,  so  that  a  heavy  rain  no  longer  meant 
washouts  and  consequent  stoppage  of  coke 
and  supplies.  The  coke  teams  struggled  back 
to  the  railroad  almost  as  heavily  laden  with 
matt,  as  on  the  upward  trip  they  had  been  with 
coke.  Each  day  saw  new  framework  houses 
built,  and  new  families  settling  their  possessions. 
Wagons  were  driven  into  camp  laden  with 
battered  stoves,  broken  chairs,  a  stray  dog  or 
274 


THE  UP  GRADE 

two,  and  in  general  the  household  belongings 
of  new  settlers ;  for  the  growth  of  the  "  lilies  of 
the  field "  is  as  nothing  compared  with  that 
of  a  prosperous  mining  camp.  Each  day  the 
office  was  filled  with  men  clamoring  for 
lumber:  "Only  a  little,  Boss!  Just  to  put  in 
a  flooring.  We  can  get  along  with  two  boards 
on  the  sides.  Anything  just  so  as  we  can  get 
settled."  And  Loring  sat  behind  his  desk, 
speaking  with  kindly  but  evasive  words,  telling 
each  that  the  Company  longed  to  build  him  a 
perfect  palace,  but  that  under  the  present  con- 
ditions he  must  wait. 

For  fast  as  lumber  was  hauled  into  camp, 
still  faster  came  the  need  for  it  for  mine  timber- 
ing, for  storehouses,  and  for  a  thousand  and  one 
necessities.  The  construction  work  had  been 
rushed  to  completion.  The  huge  new  ore  cribs 
were  a  triumph  of  McKay's  ingenuity,  built  by 
a  clever  system  of  bracing  from  the  unseasoned 
lumber  that  had  been  at  hand,  and  supporting 
with  perfect  safety  the  enormous  strain  to  which 
they  were  subjected.  The  Company  was  rapidly 
becoming  the  controlling  factor  in  the  copper 
output  of  the  district. 

It  was  the  time  for  the  arrival  of  the  evening 
275 


THE  UP  GRADE 

mail  and  the  office  was  full  of  men  and  tobacco 
smoke.  McKay  had  pre-empted  the  safe  and 
sat  on  the  top  of  it,  clanking  his  heels  against 
the  sides.  His  sandy  colored  hair  matched  the 
color  of  the  pine  boards  of  the  wall  against  which 
he  was  propped.  The  draughting  tables  carried 
their  load  of  men,  as  did  each  of  the  well-worn 
chairs,  and  the  three-legged  stool.  A  babel 
of  voices  prevailed.  Every  now  and  then  Reade 
opened  the  door  from  the  back  office,  and  pok- 
ing his  head  into  the  room  with  a  disgusted 
expression  upon  his  face,  called  out:  "Soft 
pedal  there,  soft  pedal !  How  in  hell  can  a 
man  do  any  work  with  you  fellows  raising 
such  a  racket  ? " 

Stephen,  as  usual  sat  at  his  roll-top  desk  in 
the  corner,  his  feet  up  on  the  slide,  both  hands 
in  his  pockets,  the  while  he  rocked  his  pipe 
gently  up  and  down  in  his  teeth.  One  of  the 
clerks  was  telling  with  becoming  modesty  of 
his  social  triumphs  in  Phcenix  at  the  "Elks" 
ball.  The  audience  listened  with  the  listless 
attention  of  those  whose  curiosity  hangs  heavy 
on  their  hands. 

"I  was  the  candy  kid,  all  right,"  remarked 
the  narrator. 

276 


THE  UP  GRADE 

His  fervid  discourse  was  interrupted  by  a 
drawl  from  some  one  in  the  background.  "I 
reckon  that  some  time  you  must  have  drunk 
copiouslike  of  the  Hassayampeh  River." 

A  machinery  drummer  who  was  in  the  office 
cocked  up  his  ears,  thinking  that  perhaps  behind 
the  allusion  lay  a  doubtful  story. 

"What's  that  about  the  river  ?"  he  asked. 
"I  never  heard  of  that." 

"Why,  they  say,"  answered  the  first  speaker, 
"that  whoever  drinks  of  the  Hassayampeh 
River  can  't  ever  tell  the  truth  again  so  long  as 
he  lives." 

"And  also,"  added  McKay,  "that  no  matter 
where  he  drifts  to,  he  is  sure  to  wander  back 
again  to  the  old  territory ;  that  he  '11  die  in 
Arizona." 

"  How  was  that  story  ever  started  ?  "  Loring 
asked. 

"The  valley  of  the  Hassayampeh  was  one  of 
the  first  trails  into  the  ore  country,"  answered 
McKay,  "and  the  lies  that  emanated  from  the 
camps  along  that  river  was  of  such  a  fearful, 
godless  and  prize  package  variety  that  they  made 
the  old  river  famous.  There  was  a  fellow  in 
camp  here  only  the  other  day  was  telling  me 
277 


THE  UP  GRADE 

about  prospectin'  down  there  in  seventy-three. 
He  said  all  they  had  to  eat  was  fried  Gila 
monster.  I  guess  that  was  after  he  'd  drunk  the 
water  though,"  finished  McKay  reflectively. 

"The  territory  sure  has  gone  off  since  those 
days,"  said  a  cattleman  who  had  ridden  into 
camp  for  his  mail.  "Only  last  year  down  near 
Roosevelt  I  shot  two  Mexicans,  and  say,  it 
cost  me  a  hundred  dollars  for  negligence,"  he 
went  on  indignantly,  "and  the  sons  of  guns 
war  n't  wurth  more  than  twelve  dollars  and  two 
bits  apiece." 

"You  are  right  about  the  way  Arizona  is 
going  to  hell,"  said  the  mine  foreman.  "I  don't 
know  as  any  of  you  fellows  ever  knowed  '  Teeth* 
Barker.  Anyhow,  next  to  what  his  father  must 
have  been,  he  was  the  ugliest  creature  that  ever 
lived  on  this  earth.  All  of  his  teeth  just  naturally 
stuck  out  like  the  cowcatcher  of  an  engine. 
Well,  in  spite  of  that,  he  always  was  a  good 
friend  of  mine.  Least  he  used  to  be. 

"About  six  months  ago  I  was  up  to  Jerome, 
and  they  was  telling  about  an  accident  there. 
A  man  no  one  knowed  at  all  was  killed, 
but  a  fellow  said  he  had  the  ugliest  tusks 
he  ever  seed.  I  knew  at  once  that  must  be 

278 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Barker.  They  said  they  'd  planted  him  up  on 
the  knoll,  and  so,"  continued  the  foreman  sadly, 
"and  so,  although  it  was  a  powerful  hot  day, 
I  struggled  up  to  the  knoll  with  a  nice  piece  of 
pine  board,  and  a  jack-knife,  and  I  sort  of 
located  'Teeth'  with  a  handsome  monument 
and  an  exaggerated  epitaph. 

"I  came  down  as  hot  as  the  devil,  and  steps 
into  a  saloon  to  get  a  drink,  when  who  should 
walk  up  to  me  but  'Teeth'  Barker  himself! 

"'You're  dead,'  said  I. 

"'Do  I  look  like  it?'  he  asked.  He  got  sort 
of  hot  under  the  collar  about  it,  too. 

"Well,  the  long  and  short  of  it  all  was  that  I 
had  gone  and  taken  all  that  trouble  with  a 
tombstone  for  a  stranger. 

" '  The  least  that  you  can  do,  "  Teeth  "  Barker,' 
said  I,  'is  to  come  up  and  see  that  beautiful 
monument  I  erected  over  you.  It  took  as  much 
trouble  to  make  as  a  year's  assessment  work.' 

"Well,  he  did  n't  see  it  that  way.  Said  he 
would  n't  go  up  there  if  I  was  to  pay  him.  And 
that  was  after  I  had  taken  all  that  trouble ! 
Gratitude !  There  ain't  no  such  thing  any 
more  in  Arizona,"  concluded  the  foreman. 

Story  after  story  was  put  forth  for  the  edifica- 
279 


THE  UP  GRADE 

tion  of  the  crowd  until  the  grating  of  wheels 
outside  told  of  the  arrival  of  the  stage.  A  mo- 
ment later  heavy  footsteps  resounded  on  the 
porch,  and  the  burly  stage-driver,  with  two  great 
mail-sacks  slung  over  his  shoulder,  swung  into 
the  office. 

"  Evening,  gents ! "  he  called  in  answer  to 
the  general  salutation.  He  stepped  over  to 
Stephen's  desk  and  threw  down  a  little  bunch  of 
envelopes.  "Four  telegrams,"  he  said. 

Loring  rapidly  slit  open  the  envelopes,  laying 
the  telegrams  on  one  side,  and  after  running 
through  the  contents,  began  to  sort  the  mail. 

"Any  passengers?"  he  asked  the  driver. 

"Yes,  six.  Drummers  mostly.  They  are 
over  there  eating  now.  There  was  two  men 
and  a  lady;  but  they  stopped  to  eat  supper  at 
the  station.  They  will  be  up  later." 

"  It 's  lucky  Mrs.  Brown  built  those  new 
sleeping  quarters  to  her  place ;  she  '11  be  run- 
ning a  regular  hotel  here  soon,"  said  the  driver, 
as  he  swung  on  his  heel  and  tramped  out  to 
unharness  his  horses. 

Stephen  sorted  the  mail  rapidly,  and  deftly 
scaled  the  letters  to  the  fortunate  recipients. 

"That  is  all,"  he  said,  as  he  tossed  the  last. 
280 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Every  one  left  the  office  with  the  exception  of 
McKay  who,  with  a  woebegone  expression  on 
his  face,  lingered  behind. 

"What  is  the  matter  ?"   asked  Loring. 

"Nothing,"  answered  McKay  gruffly. 

"Well,  how  is  this?"  said  Stephen,  taking 
from  his  pocket  a  letter  which  was  addressed  in 
large  square  characters  to  McKay.  "You  see 
she  did  not  forget  you,  after  all." 

McKay  blushed  to  the  roots  of  his  hair,  then 
opened  the  letter  with  seeming  nonchalance. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  you  have  a  pretty 
steady  correspondent  there,"  said  Stephen, 
while  he  straightened  up  his  desk  preparatory 
to  the  evening's  work.  "I  have  handed  you 
a  letter  like  that  every  night  this  week."  McKay 
colored  even  more,  then  stretched  out  his  hand. 
"Shake,  Steve!  I  am  going  to  get  spliced.  I 
have  been  meaning  to  tell  you  before  this." 

Loring  jumped  up  and  pounded  him  on  the 
back. 

"You  gay  winner  of  hearts,  who  is  she  ?" 

"Do  you  remember  Jane  Stevens,  back  at 
Quentin  ?  Well,  it 's  her." 

Loring's  eyes  twinkled.     "How  did  you  ever 
get  the  nerve?"  he  asked. 
281 


THE  UP  GRADE 

At  the  thought  of  his  audacity,  the  perspira- 
tion broke  out  on  McKay's  forehead. 

"Well  she  had  me  plumb  locoed.  I  remember 
once  a  horse  had  me  buffaloed  the  same  way," 
he  explained.  "I  was  scared,  scared  blue, 
Steve;  but  finally  I  got  up  my  nerve  and 
thought  I  'd  go  and  break  my  affections  to  her 
gentle  and  polite  like.  So  one  day  I  rode  over 
to  their  place,  —  you  know  where  it  is  was,  just 
south  of  the  Dominion  trail,  —  and  I  thought 
I  'd  go  to  see  her  brother  Charlie  and  fix 
it  up  with  him.  When  I  reached  their 
shack  she  came  to  the  door  looking  as  neat 
as  a  partridge  and  with  a  sort  of  smile  hidden 
somewhere  in  her  face,  and  —  and  I  '11  be 
damned  if  I  did  n't  kiss  her  right  then  without 
any  formalities." 

"That  was  the  simplest  solution  of  the  prob- 
lem, was  n't  it  ?"  laughed  Stephen.  "When  are 
you  going  to  be  married  ?" 

"Oh,  soon,  I  guess;  but  I  wish  it  could  be 
managed  as  simply  as  these  Mexicans  do.  And 
how  about  you,  Steve  ? "  continued  McKay. 
"You  ain't  been  took  this  way  yourself,  have 
you  ?  Not  that  woman  you  was  telling  me 
about  in  Mexico." 

282 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Loring  shook  his  head.  "Unfortunately  she 
was  a  married  woman." 

"I  sort  of  thought,"  went  on  McKay,  "that 
you  and  Miss  Cameron  was  —  " 

"Well,  you  thought  wrongly,"  interrupted 
Loring  sharply.  "I  never  expect  to  see  Miss 
Cameron  again." 

There  came  a  ripple  of  laughter  from  the  door- 
way, and  looking  up  quickly  he  saw  Jean  and 
her  father  walk  into  the  office.  Behind  them 
stood  Baird  Radlett. 

"What  a  hospitable  form  of  welcome!"  ex- 
claimed Miss  Cameron,  smiling  at  him  frankly. 

For  a  moment  Loring  swayed  in  his  chair, 
then  he  rose  stiffly,  as  a  man  in  a  trance.  He 
stared  at  Jean  with  an  absorption  that  was 
almost  rude,  as  if  there  were  nothing  in  the 
universe  beyond  her.  There  lay  a  hint  of 
laughter  in  the  gray  depths  of  her  eyes. 

"What  is  the  matter?"  asked  Radlett. 
"  Are  you  surprised  to  see  us  ?  Did  n't  you  get 
my  letter  ? " 

"It  is  probably  in  to-night's  mail  which  I 
have  n't  opened  yet,"  answered  Loring,  still 
half  dazed. 

"Mr.  Cameron  has  consented  to  come  and 


THE  UP  GRADE 

make  a  report  on  the  property  for  me,"  ex- 
plained Baird. 

Mr.  Cameron  came  forward  and  held  out 
his  hand.  "Mr.  Loring,  I  have  heard  of  the 
splendid  work  that  you  have  done  here.  I  want 
to  congratulate  you."  This  little  speech  was 
a  hard  one  for  Mr.  Cameron  to  make;  but  he 
was  a  man  who,  when  he  had  once  made  up 
his  mind  to  the  right  course,  followed  it  to  the 
end. 

The  expression  of  pride  in  Stephen's  face 
turned  to  one  of  appreciation,  and  he  shook 
Mr.  Cameron's  hand  with  a  firm,  grateful 
pressure.  But  all  the  while  he  was  looking 
at  Jean  longingly,  worshipingly,  all  uncon- 
scious of  the  intensity  of  his  gaze,  as  a  man 
who  for  days  has  been  in  the  desert  without 
water  looks  upon  the  sudden  spring.  In  all 
the  months  that  he  had  thought  of  her,  dreamed 
of  her,  she  had  never  seemed  to  have  the  beauty, 
the  potential  tenderness,  which  marked  her 
now  when  she  stood  before  him,  her  look  telling 
him  that  she  was  proud  of  what  her  friend  had 
been  and  done. 

To  Radlett,  looking  at  them  both,  came  a 
sudden  suspicion,  and  a  sudden  despair. 
284 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Jean,  at  Loring's  request,  seated  herself  at 
his  desk,  in  the  big  revolving  chair,  and  while 
playing  absent-mindedly  with  the  papers  on 
the  desk,  kept  up  a  laughing  discussion  with 
Baird. 

Loring,  at  the  other  side  of  the  room,  was 
answering  Mr.  Cameron's  businesslike  ques- 
tions as  to  the  grade  of  the  ore,  the  force,  the 
cost  of  production,  accurately  and  fast,  as 
though  almost  every  faculty  in  his  body  and 
mind  were  not  concentrated  upon  the  girl  who 
seemed  to  be  having  such  an  interesting  talk 
with  Radlett.  Finishing  his  talk  with  Mr. 
Cameron,  Loring  left  the  office  to  arrange  for 
sleeping  quarters  for  the  visitors.  In  a  few 
minutes  he  returned  with  the  announcement 
that  all  was  ready,  and  led  the  way  to  the  long, 
low  building  next  the  mess,  whose  many  rooms, 
opening  on  a  broad  porch,  served  as  accommo- 
dations for  strangers  in  camp. 

Loring  walked  beside  Miss  Cameron,  doing 
his  best  to  talk  unconcernedly  of  every-day 
matters,  but  the  hoarseness  of  his  voice  betrayed 
him. 

"I  am  very  sorry  to  have  to  offer  you  such 
rough  quarters,"  he  said  to  Jean,  as  they 
285 


THE  UP  GRADE 

reached  the  house,  "but  they  are  the  best  that 
we  have.  In  another  month  we  hope  to  have 
something  more  comfortable  to  give  to  our 
guests." 

"In  another  month,  Stephen,  you  will  have 
an  up-to-date  city  constructed  here,"  exclaimed 
Radlett,  with  an  almost  reluctant  enthusiasm. 

At  the  steps  Stephen  and  Radlett  said  good- 
night to  the  others,  and  walked  slowly  back  to 
Stephen's  quarters,  which  they  were  to  share. 

Loring  sat  on  the  edge  of  his  cot,  and  smoked 
slowly  while  he  watched  Baird  unpack  his 
valise,  and  with  the  method  of  an  orderly 
nature  put  everything  away  in  the  rough  chest 
of  drawers,  or  on  the  black  iron  hooks  which 
protruded  from  the  wall.  Espying  a  tin  of  ex- 
pensive tobacco  neatly  packed  amidst  a  circle 
of  collars,  Stephen  pounced  upon  it,  and  knock- 
ing out  the  contents  of  his  pipe,  proceeded  to 
fill  it  with  the  new  mixture.  Radlett  finished 
his  unpacking,  and  recovering  the  tobacco  can 
from  Loring,  filled  his  own  pipe.  Then  he 
tipped  a  chair  back  against  the  wall,  and 
sitting  in  it,  regarded  Loring  for  a  moment 
in  silence. 

"Stephen,"  he  remarked  after  a  few  seconds, 
286 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"you  have  done  a  good  piece  of  work.  I  knew 
that  you  would." 

Loring's  irrelevant  answer  was  to  the  effect 
that  the  tobacco  which  he  had  stolen  was  good. 
It  was  an  odd  characteristic  of  this  man  that 
though  his  nature  contained  many  streaks  of 
vanity,  praise  for  work  which  he  knew  was  good 
embarrassed  him.  At  length  he  began  to  appre- 
ciate the  ungraciousness  of  his  response  to 
Radlett's  advances,  and  leaning  forward,  with 
his  elbows  on  his  knees,  he  said:  "You  cannot 
guess  what  it  means  to  me,  Baird,  to  have  you 
say  things  like  that,  to  be  patted  on  the  back 
and  made  to  feel  as  if  I  had  done  something, 
and  that  by  a  man  who  has  succeeded  in  every- 
thing to  which  he  has  turned  his  hand,  who  has 
won  all  the  big  prizes  of  life." 

Radlett  drew  back  into  the  shadow  where 
the  lamplight  could  not  reveal  the  expression 
of  his  face. 

"All  the  prizes  in  life?"  he  queried  with 
scornful  emphasis.  "No,  not  all  by  a  damn 
sight.  You  see,  Stephen,  I  feel  as  if  Fate  had 
stood  over  me  with  a  deuced  ironical  smile, 
and  said:  'You  shall  have  your  every  wish 
in  life  —  except  the  one  thing  that  you  want 
287 


THE  UP  GRADE 

most  of  all  —  the  one  thing  that  would  make 
you  happy.' ' 

"Hm,"  murmured  Loring,  shaking  out  the 
embers  from  his  pipe  and  gazing  into  the  empty 
bowl.  "With  any  one  else  I  should  say  that 
meant  a  woman;  but  with  you  it  could  not 
be." 

"Why  not  with  me  as  well  as  with  any  other 
man?" 

"  Because  there  is  no  woman  alive  who  would 
be  fool  enough  to  refuse  you." 

"  Bless  your  heart,  Stephen !  It  is  only 
your  blind  loyalty  that  makes  you  think  me 
irresistible." 

"Do  you  mean  that  there  really  is  a  woman 
so  benighted  ?  What  is  she  thinking  of  ? " 

"I  imagine,"  answered  Radlett  slowly,  "that 
you  might  change  that  *  what*  to  whom." 

"You  would  have  me  believe  that  knowing 
you,  she  prefers  some  one  else  ?"  asked  Loring 
incredulously.  "Why,  Baird,  it  is  impossible." 

"  By  no  means.    I  think  I  know  the  man." 

Loring's  blood  boiled.  "Who  is  the  brute?" 
he  cried  out.  "Tell  me  and  I  will  kill  him, 
break  his  neck,  shoot  him." 

Baird  smiled  wryly,  blew  a  cloud  of  smoke 
288 


THE  UP  GRADE 

toward  the  roof,  and  observed :  "  If  I  were  you, 
Stephen,  I  would  do  nothing  rash.  But  come, 
we  have  talked  long  enough  of  me  and  my 
affairs.  Let  us  talk  now  about  you  and  yours ! 
Suppose,  for  instance,  you  tell  me  why  you 
turned  the  color  of  a  meerschaum  pipe  when 
Miss  Cameron  appeared  in  the  doorway 
to-night." 

Loring  started  and  looked  quickly  at  Radlett. 
"You  noticed  that,  did  you  ?  Well,  you  have 
a  quick  eye  and  a  gift  for  drawing  conclusions, 
but  they  may  not  always  be  right." 

"Not  always,  no;  but  this  time  they  are, 
are  n't  they  ?  Be  honest,  Stephen,  are  you  or 
are  you  not  in  love  with  Jean  Cameron  ? " 

"Excuse  me,  but  that  can  not  interest  you 
to  know." 

"Perhaps  not,  and  perhaps  it  is  a  damned 
impertinence  to  inquire,  but  after  all  an  old 
friendship  gives  some  privileges." 

"Of  course  it  does!"  exclaimed  Stephen, 
tilting  down  his  chair.  He  walked  across  the 
room  to  Radlett's  seat  and  stood  behind  him. 
"See  here,  Baird.  I  did  not  want  to  speak  of 
this  thing  because  I  was  afraid  of  breaking 
down  and  making  an  ass  of  myself  generally. 
'9  280 


THE  UP  GRADE 

You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be  placed  as  I  am. 
When  you  asked  a  girl  to  marry  you,  you  had 
something  to  offer  her,  whether  she  had  the 
sense  to  take  it  or  not.  You  offered  her  a  clean 
life,  a  fortune  honorably  made,  an  untarnished 
name,  while  I,  —  why  even  if  there  were  the 
remotest  chance  that  Miss  Cameron  would 
look  at  me,  I  should  be  a  brute  to  ask  her.  The 
more  I  cared  for  her,  the  less  I  could  do  it.  So 
you  see,  for  me  it  must  be  'the  desire  of  the 
moth  for  the  star.'  A  man  must  abide  by  the 
consequences  of  his  acts;  he  must  take  his 
medicine,  and  if  mine  is  bitter,  it  may  do  me 
all  the  more  good  only  —  only  I  cannot  talk 
about  it.  Good  night ! " 

Radlett  did  not  answer;  but  long  after 
Stephen  was  asleep,  or  pretended  to  be,  Baird 
lay  staring  at  the  rafters.  "To  lay  down  his 
life  for  his  friend,"  he  said  to  himself.  "That 
would  not  be  the  hardest  thing.  To  lay  down 
his  love !  I  wonder  if  I  am  man  enough  to 
do  it." 


290 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

DURING  the  week  which  the  Camerons 
spent  in  camp  at  Kay,  it  was  amusing 
to  notice  the  change  in  the  appearance 
of  the  men  at  the  mess.  Dilapidated  flannel 
shirts  and  khaki  trousers  the  worse  for  wear 
had  been  supplanted  at  supper  time  by  self- 
conscious  black  suits  and  very  white  ties.  The 
camp  barber  made  enough  money  to  tide  him 
over  many  months. 

Mr.  Cameron  had  spent  a  very  busy  week, 
examining  with  Loring  all  the  details  of  the 
work,  and  daily  his  respect  had  grown  for  the 
man  whom  he  had  so  despised.  The  evening 
before  the  last  which  she  was  to  spend  in  Kay, 
Jean  announced  her  intention  of  visiting  the 
"workings"  with  her  father  when  he  should  go 
the  next  day.  Loring  said  that  it  was  not  safe; 
her  father  protested ;  Radlett  argued  with  her,  and 
as  the  net  result  of  all  she  appeared  the  follow- 
ing morning  with  her  determination  unchanged. 

The  porch  of  the  mess  a  few  minutes  before 
291 


THE  UP  GRADE 

breakfast  time  was  always  crowded.  Men  on 
their  way  back  from  the  night  shift  made  a 
practise  of  stopping  to  exchange  a  few  words. 
It  was  a  quieter  gathering  than  in  the  evening, 
for  ahead  lay  the  prospect  of  a  long  day's  work. 
Yet  an  air  of  comfort  always  prevailed.  The 
five  minutes  before  breakfast  made  a  precious 
interval  in  which  to  loaf,  a  delightful  time  when 
one  could  stretch  himself  against  the  wall  and 
bask  in  the  sunlight 

Jean  and  her  father  came  up  to  the  veranda 
with  a  friendly  "good  morning"  to  those  who 
were  gathered  there.  A  few  of  the  loiterers 
talked  respectfully  to  Mr.  Cameron,  whose 
fame  as  a  mining  expert  was  a  wide  one,  and 
Jean  quickly  became  the  center  of  a  large 
group  of  men,  eager  to  point  out  to  her  the  differ- 
ent mountains,  the  Grahams  in  the  distance  or 
the  long  sharp  ridges  of  the  neighboring  range. 
They  called  her  attention  to  the  mist  hanging 
low  in  the  valley,  curling  softly  in  the  farthest 
recesses.  The  mine  foreman,  usually  the  most 
shiftlessly  dressed  man  in  camp,  twitched  his 
polka-dotted  tie  into  place  when  he  thought 
that  Miss  Cameron's  attention  was  absorbed 
by  the  landscape. 

292 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Stephen  came  across  from  his  quarters  among 
the  last.  He  waited  a  moment  before  joining 
the  group  about  Miss  Cameron;  and  his  eyes 
employed  that  moment  in  fixing  a  picture 
indelibly  on  his  mind.  As  Jean  leaned  lightly 
against  the  wall,  in  her  dress  of  white  linen  crash, 
she  made  a  picture  which  no  one  who  saw  could 
forget.  Her  gray  eyes  were  clear  with  the  re- 
flection of  the  morning  light,  and  the  sun 
searched  for  and  illuminated  the  subtle  tints  of 
her  hair.  She  had  a  pretty  way  of  speaking  as 
though  everything  she  said  were  a  simple  an- 
swer to  a  clever  question.  Men  liked  that. 
They  thought  her  appreciative. 

She  looked  up  to  notice  Loring's  glance  upon 
her,  and  answered  his  "good  morning"  lightly. 
"You  need  not  speak  as  though  you  were  sur- 
prised, Mr.  Loring,"  she  said,  "I  may  have 
been  late  to  breakfast  five  out  of  my  six  days,  but 
that  is  no  sign  that  it  is  a  habit  with  me.  Besides, 
you  know  that  to-day  I  am  to  visit  the  mine." 

"So  you  are  still  determined?"  he  asked. 
"Really,  Miss  Cameron,  it  is  not  very  safe. 
There  might  be  an  accident  of  some  sort,  and," 
he  went  on,  looking  at  her  gown,  "you  will  ruin 
your  dress." 

293 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"Do  you  fancy  that  I  travel  with  only  one  ?" 
Jean  queried  smiling.  "It  may  be  so,  but  not 
even  my  vanity  shall  deter  me;  I  really  must 

go" 

Just   then   Wah   appeared  on   the   veranda, 

and  began  to  pound  with  his  railroad  spike  on 
the  iron  triangle  which,  as  at  Quentin,  served 
for  a  dinner  gong. 

"La,  la,  boom,  boom!  Breakfast!"  he 
shouted,  amidst  the  din  which  he  was  creating. 
"Me  bludder,  Steve,  he  almost  late.  La,  la, 
boom,  boom  !  Hot  cakes,  hot  cakes;  oh,  lubbly 
hot  cakes,  oh,  lubbly,  lubbly  — ! " 

In  the  midst  of  his  song  he  caught  sight  of 
Jean,  and  stopping  his  pounding  he  beamed 
upon  her. 

"Goodee  morning,  missee,  goodee  morning! 
Missee  on  time  this  morning;  how  it  happen  ?" 

McKay  angrily  told  him  to  shut  up,  but  Miss 
Cameron  stopped  the  rebuke,  assuring  Wah 
that  his  reproaches  had  been  well  deserved. 

Several  minutes  after  the  others  had  begun 
their  meal,  Radlett  appeared  at  breakfast,  still 
struggling  against  sleepiness.  Not  even  the 
clear  early  morning  air  had  thoroughly  aroused 
him.  Breakfasts  at  half-past  six  were  a  distinct 
294 


THE  UP  GRADE 

and  not  wholly  appreciated  novelty  to  Baird. 
He  slipped  into  his  place  beside  Jean,  and  en- 
deavored to  parry  her  banter  upon  his  indolence. 
Stephen,  at  his  side  of  the  table,  was  occupied  in 
dispensing  the  platter  of  "flap  jacks,"  which 
Wah,  beaming  with  appreciation  of  their  ex- 
cellence, had  set  before  him  to  serve. 

"At  what  time  do  we  visit  the  mine  ?"  asked 
Jean  across  the  table. 

"As  soon  after  breakfast  as  you  and  your 
father  are  ready,"  answered  Stephen.  "The 
air  is  much  better  early  in  the  day,  before  they 
have  begun  to  shoot  down  there.  But  I  wish 
that  you  would  change  your  mind  about  going." 

Jean  turned  to  the  mine  foreman  for 
assistance. 

"It  is  perfectly  safe,  isn't  it,  Mr.  Burns?" 
"  I  know  that  all  my  father  and  Mr.  Loring  think 
is  that  I  shall  be  in  the  way." 

Burns  laboriously  protested  against  such  an 
idea,  and  clumsily  promised  to  look  after  her 
safety. 

In  the  minutes  that  preceded  the  seven  o'clock 

whistle,  one  by  one  the  men  straggled  off  to 

their  work,  nodding  respectfully  to  Jean  and 

her  father  as  they  left,  and  calling  out  parting 

295 


THE  UP  GRADE 

gibes  at  Wah.  By  the  time  that  the  whistle 
blew,  the  line  of  ponies  picketed  to  the  fence 
before  the  mess  had  disappeared,  and  the  com- 
munity was  at  work. 

As  soon  after  breakfast  as  Mr.  Cameron  had 
smoked  his  morning  cigar,  he  joined  Radlett 
and  Loring,  and  with  Miss  Cameron  all  walked 
up  to  the  mouth  of  the  nearest  shaft.  Burns 
met  them  at  the  shaft  house,  and  selected  from 
the  pile  of  oilskins  a  "slicker"  for  Miss  Cameron. 
She  struggled  helplessly  with  the  stiff  button- 
holes, and  Loring  was  obliged  to  button  the 
coat  for  her.  His  fingers,  though  stronger  than 
hers,  were  not  much  more  efficient,  owing  to 
their  trembling. 

"Where  are  the  candles,  Burns?"  asked 
Loring. 

Burns  pointed  to  a  box  in  one  corner  of  the 
shaft  house.  Stephen  took  out  a  half  dozen, 
and  handed  one  to  each  of  the  visitors.  He 
put  a  broken  one  into  the  spike  candle  holder 
which  he  carried,  and  slipped  the  others  into 
his  capacious  pockets. 

The  "  skip "  shot  up  and  was  unloaded. 
"All  ready !"  called  Burns,  steadying  the  bucket 
by  the  level  of  the  shaft  mouth.  Jean  stepped 
296 


THE  UP  GRADE 

forward  and  looked  at  the  bucket  just  a  bit 
askance.  Loring  showed  her  how  to  place  her 
hands  on  the  heavy  iron  links  above  the  swivel, 
and  how  to  stand  on  the  edge  of  the  bucket  with 
her  heels  over  the  edge. 

"Look  out  that  your  skirt  does  not  hit  against 
the  side  of  the  shaft !"  was  his  final  injunction. 

"  Can  we  go  down  now  ? "  he  asked  Burns. 

"One  second,"  answered  the  foreman. 
"There  is  a  load  of  sharpened  drills  to  go 
down  with  us." 

In  a  moment  the  little  "nipper"  appeared 
with  his  armful  of  drills,  and  with  a  ringing 
clatter  dropped  them  into  the  bottom  of  the 
bucket. 

"I  think  we  had  better  take  Mr.  Cameron 
to  the  four  hundred  level  right  away,"  said 
Stephen  to  Burns.  "I  want  him  to  see  that 
new  stope.  The  air  is  n't  very  bad  there,  is 
it?" 

"No,  it's  pretty  fair." 

"All  right.  Lower  away,  four  hundred!" 
called  Loring  to  the  hoist  engineer,  at  the  same 
time  swinging  himself  onto  the  bucket  beside 
the  others. 

The  skip  began  to  drop  slowly  down  the 
297 


THE  UP  GRADE 

timbered  shaft.  For  the  first  twenty-five  or 
thirty  feet  it  was  fairly  light,  and  Jean  could 
see  the  joints  in  the  rough-grained,  greasy 
boards.  Then  all  became  dark.  She  clutched 
the  cable  tightly  and  half  closed  her  eyes.  The 
water  began  to  drip  down  hard  from  above, 
spattering  sharply  on  their  oilskins.  Loring, 
close  beside  her,  whispered:  "All  right.  Just 
hold  on  tightly,  Miss  Cameron  !  Great  elevator, 
is  n't  it?" 

Even  while  Loring  spoke,  a  chill  struck  to 
his  heart.  What  if  the  hoist  engineer  failed  in 
his  duty !  What  if  the  bucket  crashed  into  the 
black  depths  that  lay  below  them,  or  shot 
wildly  upward  to  be  caught  in  the  timbers  at 
the  top !  What  if  Jean  Cameron  were  to  be 
snatched  away  as  those  others  had  been,  through 
the  wanton  carelessness  of  the  man  in  charge 
above !  Would  any  punishment  be  black 
enough  for  him  ?  Would  eternity  be  long 
enough  for  him  to  make  a  decent  repentance  ? 

By  the  vigor  of  the  answer  which  his  heart 
made  to  the  question,  Loring  sensed  the  pang 
of  remorse  which  had  gnawed  at  his  conscience 
without  ceasing  ever  since  that  awful  night. 
"That  was  what  you  did."  The  words  said 
298 


THE  UP  GRADE 

themselves  over  and  over  in  his  ear  as  the  bucket 
slid  downward. 

The  air  began  to  turn  from  the  pure  clear 
atmosphere  of  the  mountains  to  the  heavy 
close  humidity  of  the  mine,  murky  even  in  its 
blackness. 

"One  hundred  level,"  explained  Stephen, 
as  the  bucket  dropped  past  a  candle  which 
flickered  dully  in  a  smoky  hole  in  the  side  of 
the  shaft,  the  entrance  to  the  drift  which  was 
even  blacker  than  the  shaft  itself. 

As  they  reached  the  lower  levels,  the  water 
poured  down  faster.  The  bucket  swung  and 
twisted  and  Jean  leaned  an  imperceptible  trifle 
closer  to  Loring.  He  steadied  her  with  his 
arm,  although  it  may  not  have  been  strictly 
necessary  for  safety. 

The  bucket  suddenly  stopped  and  hung 
lifelessly  steady. 

"Here  we  are,  four  hundred  foot  level," 
called  Loring.  "  Please  stay  just  where  you  are, 
Miss  Cameron,  and  we  will  help  you  orF."  He 
swung  himself  onto  the  landing  stage  after  the 
others,  and  taking  both  of  Jean's  hands  in  his, 
guided  her  safely  into  the  drift. 

She    stood    for    a    moment    completely    con- 
299 


THE  UP  GRADE 

fused,  unable  to  make  out  anything.  Loring 
leaned  out  into  the  shaft,  and  pulling  the  bell 
cord,  signaled  to  have  the  bucket  raised  again. 
Then  he  took  Jean's  candle,  and  biting  off  the 
wax  from  about  the  wick,  lighted  it  and  his 
own,  holding  them  under  a  small  protecting 
ledge  of  rock. '  To  Jean's  unaccustomed  eyes 
the  little  Bickerings  made  small  difference  in  the 
darkness.  She  stepped  into  a  pool  of  water 
that  lay  in  the  middle  of  the  drift,  wetting  her 
boots  to  the  ankles. 

"Careful!"  said  Loring,  taking  her  by  the 
arm.  "  Keep  your  eyes  on  Burns's  candle  ahead 
there.  I  will  see  that  you  don't  fall." 

For  a  couple  of  hundred  yards  they  walked 
on  straight  ahead  down  the  drift.  Jean's  eyes 
began  to  grow  accustomed  to  the  gray  blackness, 
and  now,  when  the  roof  of  the  tunnel  grew 
suddenly  lower,  she  stooped  almost  by  instinct. 

"Look  out  for  the  winze,  Miss!"  called 
back  Burns. 

"All  right!"  answered  Loring.  "This  runs 
to  the  next  level,  a  hundred  feet  down,"  he 
explained,  as  he  helped  Jean  to  cross  the  plank 
which  bridged  a  black  chasm.  She  noticed  the 
rails  of  a  little  track  which  ran  beneath  their 
300 


THE  UP  GRADE 

feet,  and  almost  as  she  was  on  the  point  of  ask- 
ing its  purpose,  from  far  ahead  in  the  darkness 
came  a  shrill,  weird  whistle,  and  a  heavy 
rumble. 

Loring  caught  her  and  held  her  back  against 
the  side  wall  as  a  "mucker"  ran  past,  wheel- 
ing a  heavy  ore  car  towards  the  shaft  and 
whistling  as  warning  to  clear  the  track.  She 
began  to  feel  the  effects  of  the  powder  fumes 
in  the  air,  and  it  made  her  head  heavy  and 
drowsy.  She  felt  that  she  had  come  into  a 
new,  supernatural  universe,  where  all  was  noisy, 
dark,  and  strange. 

At  last  the  drift  broadened  out  into  a  large, 
irregular-shaped  chamber. 

"Esperanza  stope,"  said  Loring  to  Miss 
Cameron.  "Here  is  where  they  have  struck 
the  contact  vein,  where  the  porphyry  changes 
to  limestone."  He  held  his  candle  close  to  the 
dark  wall  of  rock,  and  she  could  see  the  green 
crusting  betokening  the  copper. 

"This  will  assay  pretty  close  to  ten  per  cent, 
won't  it,  Burns?"  asked  Loring. 

"It  ran  to  twelve,  yesterday,"  answered  the 
foreman. 

They  stood  still  for  a  moment.  All  about 
301 


THE  UP  GRADE 

them,  as  in  the  crypt  of  some  vast  cathedral, 
were  specks  of  light,  showing  through  the  dense 
air,  the  candles  of  the  miners.  Now  and  then 
in  the  blur  there  appeared  a  distorted  shape, 
as  some  one  moved  before  a  candle.  Through 
all,  loud,  insistent,  steady,  rang  the  clink-clang, 
clink-clang,  clink-clang  of  the  drills  and  ham- 
mers, as  a  dozen  miners  drove  home  the  holes 
into  the  breast  of  the  stope,  the  tapping  of  the 
cleaning  rods,  as  they  spooned  out  the  mud,  and 
the  rattle  of  shovels  on  rock,  as  the  "  muckers  " 
loaded  the  ore  cars.  Mixed  with  these  sounds 
was  a  sharp  hissing,  as  the  miners  drew  in  their 
breath,  swaying  back  for  the  driving  blow  on 
the  heads  of  the  drills.  As  she  grew  accustomed 
to  the  dim  light,  Jean  could  make  out  the  miners 
who  were  nearest  to  her,  as,  in  teams  of  two, 
stripped  to  the  waist,  their  bodies  shiny  with 
sweat,  they  battered  on  the  walls.  Faintly  the 
lines  of  grim  archways  began  to  grow  out  of 
the  dark,  where  rough  pillars  had  been  left  to 
support  the  roofing.  Far  off,  up  a  cross-cut, 
she  could  see  more  candles  swaying.  Two  men 
near  her  were  toiling  at  a  windlass,  raising  the 
water  from  a  new  winze.  She  leaned  against 
the  wall,  and  something  rattled  tinnily.  It  was 
302 


THE  UP  GRADE 

a  pile  of  canteens,  all  warm  with  the  heat  of  the 
air. 

Jean  gasped  with  the  very  wonder  of  the 
scene.  To  the  others  it  was  merely  the  com- 
monplace of  their  work. 

Burns  called  out  to  Loring:  "We  are  going 
to  take  Mr.  Cameron  through  to  the  new  stope. 
It  is  pretty  hard  climbing  getting  through  to 
there.  I  guess  the  lady  had  better  wait  here 
with  you,  Mr.  Loring." 

The  voices  of  the  rest  of  the  party  sounded 
faint  and  far  away.  Jean  watched  the  light  of 
their  candles  sway  and  dip,  as  they  walked  off 
down  a  tunnel,  then  disappear  as  a  support- 
ing pillar  hid  them  from  view. 

Loring  led  her  to  one  side  of  the  stope,  and 
drove  the  spike  of  his  candle  stick  into  a  niche 
in  the  soft  rock  wall.  He  pointed  to  a  pile  of 
loose  ore. 

"We  can  sit  here  until  your  father  returns. 
They  are  not  working  this  end  of  the  stope 
now,"  he  said. 

She  nodded  and  seated  herself  with  her  back 

against  the  wall.    Silent,  with  her  chin  propped 

firmly  in  her  clenched  hands,  she  strained  her 

eyes  to  look  at  the  dim  lights  and  shadows  at 

3°3 


THE  UP  GRADE 

the  other  end  of  the  stope,  and  watched  the 
shadows  grow  into  things,  as  she  stared.  Far 
beneath  her,  in  the  solid  rock,  she  heard  faint 
indistinct  taps.  A  trifle  awed  by  the  mystery 
she  turned  to  Loring. 

"What  is  that  sound  ?"  she  asked. 

"Those  are  'Tommy  knockers,"  he  an- 
swered gravely.  "They  are  the  ghosts  of  men 
who  were  killed  in  an  explosion  here,  tap- 
ping steadily  for  help." 

"Really?"  she  asked,  half  laughing. 

"It  might  be,"  answered  Loring,  "but  the 
fact  of  it  is  that  those  are  men  drilling  on  the 
next  level.  The  sound  now  and  then  carries 
clear  through  the  rock." 

The  candle  in  the  niche  behind  her  cast  a 
dim  light  over  the  soft  curves  of  Jean's  cheeks, 
rising  delicately  above  the  rough  yellow  oilskin 
coat.  Loring  beside  her,  looked  down  at  her 
intently.  Turning,  she  inadvertently  brushed 
against  his  sleeve,  and  he  quivered  as  though 
it  had  been  a  blow.  The  silence  was  growing 
oppressive  with  significance.  Suddenly  Jean 
broke  it,  saying:  "Mr.  Loring,  I  may  not  have 
another  opportunity  of  speaking  with  you  alone 
while  we  are  in  Kay.  I  must  use  this  chance 
3°4 


THE  UP  GRADE 

to  tell  you  what  pleasure  it  has  given  me  to 
hear  of  your  achievements  here,  of  your  courage 
in  the  riot  and  of —  "  Jean  paused  and  seemed 
to  choose  her  words  carefully,  "of  your  victory." 

"Oh,"  answered  Stephen,  with  an  attempt 
at  ease,  while  all  the  time  his  heart  was  beating 
like  a  trip-hammer,  "I  suppose  Baird  has  been 
talking  about  me;  but  you  must  not  take  him 
too  literally.  There  is  no  libel  law  against 
flattery,  and  so  men  speak  their  minds  about 
their  friends  as  freely  as  they  would  like  to  do 
about  their  enemies.  Miss  Cameron,"  he  said 
suddenly,  "I  have  never  thanked  you  for  the 
note  which  you  sent  me  when  I  left  Quentin. 
But  you  must  know  how  grateful  I  felt.  I  did 
not  deserve  your  trust;  but  I  cannot  tell  you 
how  it  helped  me." 

She  shook  her  head  slowly,  and  when  she 
spoke  her  voice  was  very  soft.  "I  am  glad  if 
it  helped  you,  but  you  would  have  won  your 
fight  without  it,  I  think."  Her  tone  held  a 
shadow  of  question. 

"The  whole  struggle  would  not  have  seemed 
worth  while  without  that,  and  without  the 
truest  friend  in  the  world  to  help.  Miss  Cam- 
eron, Baird  Radlett  came  to  me  when  I  had 

20  305 


THE  UP  GRADE 

fallen  as  low  as  a  man  could  fall.  He  and  your 
note  saved  me." 

"No,"  answered  Jean,  "you  saved  yourself. 
I  think  you  were  saved  from  the  time  of  that 
dreadful  night  at  Quentin,  only  you  did  not 
know  it." 

The  roar  of  an  ore  car  rushing  by  drowned 
her  voice.  A  moment  later  Stephen  spoke  in 
a  hard,  dry  tone.  "I  am  not  sure,"  he  said, 
"that  I  know  exactly  what  salvation  means. 
If  it  means  that  I  am  not  likely  to  make  a  beast 
of  myself  any  more,  or  murder  any  more  men, 
I  am  glad  to  believe  it  is  so;  but  after  all  what 
does  it  matter  to  me  ?  I  have  lost  my  chance, 
thrown  it  away,  and  life  cannot  hold  anything 
particularly  cheerful  for  me  after  that." 

"No,  no!"  Jean  exclaimed  with  a  swift  in- 
explicable pang  at  her  heart.  "You  must  not 
say  that.  There  are  chances  ahead  in  life  for 
every  one." 

"Yes,  chances;  but  not  the  chance." 

"Am  I  the  chance?"  Jean  asked,  in  a  voice 
so  low  that  it  could  scarcely  be  heard  above  the 
echoes. 

Loring  bowed  his  head,  with  such  dejection 
in  his  bearing  as  struck  to  the  heart  of  the  girl 
306 


THE  UP  GRADE 

beside  him.  Jean  had  been  thinking,  thinking 
hard.  The  quick  throbbing  in  her  temples 
attested  to  the  intensity  of  her  mood.  She  knew 
in  that  instant  that  she  cared  for  the  man 
at  her  side ;  but  how  much  ?  Enough  to  run 
the  risk  ? 

"Mr.  Loring,"  she  said  at  length  slowly,  as 
if  weighing  her  words,  "  I  know  that  you  care 
for  me;  but,  and  it  is  hard  to  say"  — she  laid 
her  hand  on  his  arm  and  tried  to  meet  his  eyes  — 
"but  I  don't  quite  trust  you."  She  felt  his  arm 
stiffen  and  quiver,  but  she  went  on,  although 
her  voice  broke:  "I  know  that  you  are  brave. 
I  owe  my  life  to  that."  She  paid  no  attention 
to  the  gesture  with  which  he  waved  aside  all 
obligation.  "I  respect  you  more  than  I  can  say 
for  the  fight  that  you  have  made  against  habit, 
only- 

"Only?"  echoed  Stephen  slowly. 

"Only  —  oh,  can't  you  see  that  if  I  were  to 
marry  you  and  all  the  time  there  were  in  my 
heart  a  doubt,  even  though  the  merest  shadow, 
that  neither  of  us  could  be  happy  ?" 

Loring  crushed  between  his  fingers  a  piece  of 
the  soft  ore  and  let  the  fragments  trickle  to  the 
ground  before  he  spoke.  "It  is  more  than  a 
3°7 


THE  UP  GRADE 

year  now,  Jean.  Must  the  shadow  last  forever  ? 
Is  what  I  have  done  to  remain  forever  un- 
pardoned  ? "  He  spoke  with  the  slowness  of 
an  advocate  who  knows  his  case  is  lost,  yet 
fights  to  the  end. 

"It  is  not  that,  Stephen.  I  could  forgive 
almost  anything  that  you  have  done.  But  there 
is  one  thing  that  you  have  done,  that  try  as  I 
would,  I  could  never  forget.  Stephen,  let  me 
ask  it  of  you.  What  is  the  most  essential  quality 
of  all  in  a  —  a  —  friend  ?  " 

"Honesty,"  answered  Loring,  without  a  mo- 
ment's hesitation. 

"And  suppose  you  knew  that  a  friend  had 
utterly  fallen  from  honesty?" 

"I  should  then  feel  that  the  word  "friend" 
no  longer  applied." 

Loring  was  dazed.  He  did  not  know  of  her 
cousin's  story  of  his  dishonesty  in  his  relations 
with  his  guardian.  He  thought  only  of  the 
promise  he  had  made  to  her  on  their  ride  in 
Quentin  and  the  manner  in  which  he  had 
broken  it.  "Yes,"  he  went  on  slowly,  "I 
suppose  when  a  man  breaks  his  solemn  word 
he  shatters  forever  the  mold  of  his  character." 

"I  want  you  to  understand  that  it  is  only 
308 


THE  UP  GRADE 

because  I  cannot  forget  that  one  thing,  that  my 
trust  in  you  is  not  absolute." 

Loring  straightened  himself,  and  for  a  second 
turned  his  head  away.  "That,"  said  he,  "is 
why  I  said  I  had  lost  the  chance." 

A  wave  of  pity  swept  over  Jean.  "And  yet, 
Stephen,"  she  whispered,  "I  - 

"Oh,  Steve!  Where  are  you?"  came  from 
out  of  the  darkness.  "We  are  going  up  now. 
Mr.  Cameron  thinks  we  have  a  fine  strike 
there." 

Stephen  helped  Jean  to  her  feet.  Then 
silently  he  led  the  way  back  to  the  shaft. 


309 


CHAPTER  XIX 

INANIMATE  things,  the  poets  to  the  con- 
trary, do  not  share  human  moods.  When 
Loring  returned  to  his  desk  in  the  office 
the  typewriter,  instead  of  showing  the  least 
sympathy,  behaved  abominably.  Ordinarily 
the  letter  "J"  on  a  well-constructed  machine 
is  on  the  side,  and  little  used.  But  this  after- 
noon it  seemed  to  insist  on  beginning  every  word, 
and  the  effect  on  the  business  letters  which  should 
have  been  composed  was  not  beneficial.  But 
this  is  perhaps  explained  by  the  few  terse  words 
concluding  the  pamphlet  of  directions  which 
accompanied  the  machine:  "No  machine  ever 
made  is  fool  proof."  So  Loring  had  the  extra 
task  of  carefully  proofreading  all  his  letters. 
Being  in  love  always  has  one  of  two  effects  on 
a  man's  work.  He  either  does  twice  as  much 
work  half  as  well,  or  half  as  much  work  twice 
as  well ;  but  no  man  truly  in  love  has  been  able 
to  reverse  these,  and  double  both  his  zeal  and 
efficiency.  This  kind  of  inspiration  has  a  sin- 
310 


THE  UP  GRADE 

gular  disregard  for  detail,  and  when  it  does 
deign  to  notice  the  minute  side  of  things,  it 
magnifies  them  to  such  an  extent  that  the  ulti- 
mate aim  is  likely  to  be  obscured.  As  proof  of 
the  above  statement,  between  luncheon  and 
supper  time,  Stephen  accomplished  twice  his 
usual  amount  of  work  with  a  little  less  than 
half  his  customary  efficiency. 

His  work  done,  Loring  banged  the  cover  onto 
the  typewriter  with  a  little  more  force  than  was 
necessary,  for  if  inanimate  things  cannot  share 
moods,  they  are  still  delightful  objects  on  which 
to  vent  overwrought  feelings.  Stephen's  hat 
was  on  the  table  behind  the  swivel  chair,  and 
it  was  characteristic  of  him  that  he  used  great 
exertion  to  secure  it  without  rising,  twisting 
the  chair  into  positions  which  defied  all  the  laws 
of  gravity.  Having  set  the  soft  hat  at  its  accus- 
tomed slightly  tilted  angle,  he  lit  his  pipe  and 
frowned  at  the  garish  appearance  of  the  yellow 
oak  of  his  desk.  Then  he  rose  with  the  inde- 
cisive motion  of  one  who,  when  on  his  feet, 
wonders  why  he  has  left  his  chair.  Ordinarily 
Stephen  was  a  trifle  late  at  supper  on  account 
of  staying  to  lock  up  the  office,  and  to-night 
from  an  illogical  dread  of  the  thing  which  he 
311 


THE  UP  GRADE 

half  longed  for,  half  wished  to  avoid,  a  talk 
with  Jean,  he  did  not  reach  the  table  until  all 
the  others  had  left. 

Wah  glided  in  from  the  kitchen  with  a  fresh 
pot  of  coffee  which  he  set  before  Stephen,  to- 
gether with  the  choicest  selections  from  the 
supper  which  he  had  as  usual  saved  for  him. 
When  Loring  rose  from  the  table,  leaving  the 
larger  portion  of  his  meal  uneaten,  Wah  looked 
at  him  reproachfully  from  the  inscrutable  depths 
of  his  slanting  eyes. 

Baird  Radlett,  Jean,  and  a  few  others  were 
still  gathered  on  the  porch  when  Stephen 
stepped  outside.  They  were  gazing  intently 
down  the  valley  to  the  westward  at  the  glorious 
afterglow  in  the  sky,  where,  but  an  instant 
before,  the  red  rim  of  the  sun  had  flashed  before 
dipping  behind  the  hills.  All  were  silent  with 
that  quietness  which  is  brought  forth  by  mo- 
ments of  absolute  beauty.  Loring's  step  and 
voice  aroused  them,  and  all  save  Jean  turned 
quickly.  Baird  saw  a  color  in  Jean's  cheeks 
far  richer  and  softer  than  the  deep  rose  hue 
in  the  skies.  He  glanced  quickly  from  her  to 
the  man  standing  above  her,  who  was  looking 
down  at  her  with  adoration  in  his  gaze.  For 
312 


THE  UP  GRADE 

one  second  his  love  for  the  girl  battled  with  his 
friendship  for  the  man,  and  Radlett  realized 
the  full  bitterness  of  the  sacrifice  that  he  was 
making.  Then  friendship  conquered,  and  he 
comprehended  and  sympathized  with  the  sorrow 
which  to-night  made  Loring's  face  look  singu- 
larly old. 

Stephen  stayed  with  them  only  a  few  min- 
utes before  returning  to  the  office  to  play 
the  old,  old  game  of  burying  thought  beneath 
routine. 

Radlett  and  Jean  were  left  alone  on  the  steps. 
Baird  watched  Stephen  until  he  was  hidden  by 
the  angle  of  the  office. 

"Loring,"  he  said  suddenly,  turning  to  Jean, 
"has  been  working  fifteen  hours  a  day  for  the 
last  six  months.  He  cannot  stand  it.  I  am 
afraid  for  him." 

"Afraid  for  his  —  for  his  —  "  she  hesitated  a 
moment,  "for  his  health  ?" 

"Yes,  and  only  for  his  health,"  answered 
Radlett  decisively.  He  rose  to  his  feet  as  if  to 
gain  strength  for  what  he  was  going  to  say. 
Then  he  seated  himself  again  on  the  step  beside 
her.  Drawing  a  deep  breath  he  began :  "Jean, 
you  are  not  looking  well,  either." 
3*3 


THE  UP  GRADE 

Jean  murmured  something  about  the  fatigue 
of  the  journey  from  the  East. 

"No,"  said  Radlett  firmly,  "it  is  not  that. 
It  is  something  deeper  than  that.  You  know 
it  is,  and  I  know  it,  too,  so  let  there  be  no 
concealments  between  us  !  " 

"What  do  you  know?  How  do  you  know 
it?"  Jean  stammered. 

"A  man  knows  some  things  by  instinct," 
Radlett  answered.  "I  think  I  should  have 
found  this  out  before  long,  anyhow;  but  your 
face,  dear,  is  not  good  at  concealments,  and 
when  I  saw  your  eyes,  which  had  been  sad  from 
the  time  we  met  in  Tucson,  suddenly  light  at 
the  sight  of  Loring  in  the  office  here,  when 
I  heard  the  little  catch  in  your  voice  (Jean,  I 
know  every  tone  of  your  voice  by  heart)  and 
when  I  saw  and  heard  you,  I  knew ! " 

"Oh,  Baird!" 

"Never  mind,"  exclaimed  Radlett,  "we  will 
not  talk  of  that  any  more.  I  only  wanted  you 
to  understand  that  we  must  be  quite  frank  with 
each  other,  and  that  thus  everything  will  come 
out  right.  Now  tell  me  how  things  stand  with 
you." 

"How  can  I,  Baird  ?  To  you,  of  all  people  ?" 
3H 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"You  can  and  you  must,  just  because  I  am 
I  and  you  are  you,  and  your  happiness  concerns 
me  more  than  anything  in  the  world.  You  love 
Stephen  Loring.  You  are  miserable  about  him. 
Why?" 

"I  will  tell  you,"  answered  Jean  slowly, 
looking  intently  out  into  the  darkness.  "I  will 
tell  you  why  I  am  afraid  for  him,  because  you 
are  his  friend  as  you  are  mine,  and  you  will 
understand.  I  am  afraid  that  it  is  only  for  my 
sake  that  he  has  made  his  reform,  and  I  told 
him  to-day  that  I  did  not  quite  trust  him,  and 
that  —  oh,  Baird,  you  must  understand  !" 

Radlett  bowed  his  head  in  grave  assent. 
"Yes,  I  understand." 

"But,"  Jean  went  on,  "if  you  think  that 
this  will  cause  him  to  fall  again,  I  cannot  bear 
it;  for  Baird,  I  do  care  for  him,  and  if  this  is 
his  last  chance,  I  will  give  it  to  him." 

Radlett  grasped  her  hand  firmly  in  his  own 
and  bent  over  her.  No  crisis  of  his  life  had  ever 
taxed  his  self-control  like  this. 

"Jean,"  he  said  slowly,  "he  does  not  need 

you.     Do  you  suppose  that  if  he  did  I  should 

think  him  worthy  the  great  gift  of  your  love?" 

Baird's  voice  broke,  in  spite  of  himself;  but  he 

315 


THE  UP  GRADE 

controlled  it  and  went  on  :  "Stephen  has  fought 
his  fight  and  won  it  as  it  must  be  won  —  alone. 
Do  you  know  what  he  has  been  since  he  left 
your  father  ?  Do  you  know  of  the  way  he  be- 
haved in  that  fight  in  Mexico,  of  the  way  in 
which  he  has  saved  the  mine  here,  of  the  strength, 
the  powers,  the  self-discipline  that  he  has  shown. 
It  must  be  something  stronger  than  his  love  for 
a  woman  that  will  save  such  a  man  as  Loring, 
when  he  has  once  started  down  hill.  Stephen 
had  that  'something  stronger.'  God  help  him, 
it  cut  to  the  bone  !  Since  that  accident,  Loring 
has  never  been  quite  his  old  self.  I  am  afraid 
he  never  will  be,  that  he  will  always  be  under 
a  cloud,  but  Jean,  it  saved  him.  He  has  won 
his  fight  without  you,  and  for  that  reason  he 
is  worthy  of  you."  Baird  felt  the  fingers  in  his 
own  tighten  in  their  grasp.  "Jean,"  he  went 
on,  "you  know  how  I  have  cared  for  you  ever 
since  we  were  children,  and  how,  although  you 
did  not  care,"  he  cut  short  her  protestation 
quickly,  "and  how  although  you  did  not  care 
in  that  way,  I  love  you  now  above  anything  on 
earth." 

The  tears  gathered  hot  in  Jean's  eyes. 

"You  know  that  as  I  told  you  a  moment  ago 
316 


THE  UP  GRADE 

your  happiness  is  the  highest  thing  in  the  world 
to  me,  and  I  say  to  you :  if  you  love  Stephen, 
marry  him.  If  you  do  not  love  him,  then  I  am 
sorry  for  him,  but  I  am  not  afraid  for  him.  I 
am  proud  of  him." 

"He  must  be  a  man,  Baird,  to  have  such  a 
friend  as  you." 

A  deep  silence  fell  between  them.  Then 
Radlett  rose  suddenly,  for  he  knew  his  endur- 
ance could  stand  no  more.  He  bent  over  her 
hand  and  kissed  it  tenderly.  Then  with  a  heart- 
rendingly  cheerful  "good  night,"  he  strode  off 
into  the  darkness  towards  his  quarters. 

For  an  hour  Jean  sat  on  the  steps,  watching 
the  lights  of  the  camp,  as  one  by  one  they  were 
extinguished,  until  one  light  alone  burned.  It 
was  in  the  window  of  the  office.  There  she 
knew  a  man  was  working  steadily  and  bravely, 
and  her  heart  beat  irregularly  as  the  realization 
came,  that  it  was  the  man  whom  with  her  whole 
heart  she  loved  and  trusted  for  all  the  future, 
whatever  might  have  been  the  past.  The  hot 
blood  came  surging  into  her  cheeks  only  to  re- 
cede and  leave  them  pale. 

Rising,  she  walked  slowly  across  to  the  office. 
She  hesitated  a  moment,  her  hand  on  the  door- 
s'/ 


THE  UP  GRADE 

knob,  then  throwing  back  her  head  proudly, 
she  opened  the  door  softly  and  entered.  Her 
bearing  was  that  of  a  soldier  who  surrenders 
without  prejudice  to  his  pride. 

Loring  was  bending  over  his  work  and  did 
not  see  her  as  she  stood  in  the  doorway.  She 
watched  his  pen  toiling  over  the  paper  before 
him.  The  drooping  dejection  in  his  whole  atti- 
tude cried  out  to  her  of  his  need  for  her. 

"Stephen!"  she  half  whispered. 

The  man  jumped  to  his  feet,  startled  by  the 
sound  of  the  voice  of  which  he  had  been  think- 
ing. He  turned  to  her,  his  face  white  and  tense 
with  the  strain  of  wonder  and  surprise.  In 
three  steps  he  crossed  the  room  to  her. 

"  Is  anything  wrong  ? "  he  exclaimed  anx- 
iously. 

"Yes,  something  is  wrong,"  she  answered, 
looking  steadily  into  his  eyes.  "  I  was  wrong. 
I  told  you  that  I  did  not  trust  you.  I  do." 

"Jean,"  he  gasped,  half  suffocated.  "Do 
you  mean  that  after  I  had  broken  my  word  to 
you  at  Quentin,  you  could  possibly  forgive  ?  " 

"I  forgave  that  at  the  time." 

His  face  was  dr  wvn  with  the  conflict  between 
an  impossible  hope  and  a  desperate  fear. 

318 


THE  UP  GRADE 

"That  was  the  only  time  in  my  life  that  I 
ever  broke  my  word,  Jean,  but  breaking  it  to 
you  made  it  impossible  for  you  to  believe  in 
me.  You  told  me  so  this  morning,  and  I  realized 
it.  You  forgive  me  that  now,"  he  cried,  with  a 
sudden  flash  of  intuition,  "  because  you  are 
afraid  that  in  losing  you,  I  shall  lose  myself 
again.  Jean,  though  you  are  all  there  is  in  life 
for  me,  I  will  not  let  you  sacrifice  yourself  to 
your  splendid  sympathy.  Dearest,  can't  you 
see  that,  as  you  said,  if  there  were  a  shadow  of 
doubt  on  your  mind  you  could  never  be  happy 
with  me  ?" 

"It  was  not  what  you  think  which  made  me 
say  I  did  not  trust  you.  It  was  something, 
Stephen,  which  I  know  would  be  impossible  in 
the  man  you  are  now.  I  could  not  put  your  dis- 
honesty to  your  guardian  out  of  my  mind,  until 
I  realized  that  that  was  no  more  a  part  of  the 
Stephen  Loring  I  know  now  than  the  faults 
which  I  had  forgiven." 

Loring  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  "My 
dishonesty  towards  my  guardian  ? "  he  ex- 
claimed. "Jean,  dear,  what  do  you  mean  ?" 

"I  was  told,"  she  said  sadly,  "that  you  had 
borrowed  heavily  from  him,  and  never  returned 
3*9 


THE  UP  GRADE 

the  loan ;  but  we  can  pay  it  back  together,"  she 
went  on  bravely. 

"Jean,  every  cent  that  I  ever  borrowed,  I. 
paid  him  when  I  came  into  my  own  money. 
I  don't  know  or  care  where  you  heard  the  story, 
but  the  only  part  of  it  that  is  true  is  that  I  did 
abuse  his  good  nature  and  ask  him  to  advance 
me  out  of  his  own  fortune  the  amount  that  he 
held  in  trust  for  me."  The  impossible  hope 
conquered  the  fear  in  his  face.  He  seized  both 
of  her  hands  in  his  and  spoke  breathlessly. 

"Jean,  dearest,  was  that  why  you  did  not 
trust  me  ?" 

She  looked  up  at  him  with  her  eyes  glowing 
with  a  new  feeling.  The  love  that  had  sprung 
from  pity  had  grown  into  the  love  based  on 
pride. 

"Do  not  let  us  talk  of  that  now,"  she  whis- 
pered, "but  of  the  present  —  and  —  and  the 
future!" 

Stephen  drew  her  to  him  with  a  passion  which 
only  those  who  have  despaired  can  feel.  He 
bowed  his  head  and  kissed  her  as  for  months 
he  had  dreamed  of  doing.  He  trembled  vio- 
lently as  his  lips  met  hers;  trembled  with 
wonder,  with  adoration,  with  perfect  happiness. 
320 


THE  UP  GRADE 

He  held  her  tightly  in  his  arms,  as  though  afraid 
that  all  was  not  real,  that  he  might  yet  lose  her, 
as  if  he  drew  strength  and  life  from  the  heart 
that  beat  against  his  own.  . 

The  present  redeemed  the  past  and  glorified 
the  future.  Through  sin  and  shame,  through 
failure  and  humiliation,  he  had  at  last  found 
his  strength,  and  before  him  in  golden  promise 
stretched  the  up  grade. 


321 


Written  by  "  a  Prince  of  Story  Tellers  " 


JEANNE 
OF  THE  MARSHES 


By  E.  PHILLIPS   OPPENHEIM 
Illustrated  by  C.  E.  BROCK.     12mo.    Cloth.    $1.50 


Among  novelists  writing  to-day  E.  Phillips  Oppenheim 
has  few  equals  in  the  magic  art  of  narration.  His  imagina- 
tion is  unbounded,  his  plots  are  well  thought  out  and 
cleverly  developed,  with  due  regard  to  probability,  while 
his  wide  knowledge  of  the  world  and  of  men  gives  to  his 
romances  a  distinction  which  raises  them  above  the  ordi- 
nary tales  of  romantic  adventure  or  mystery. 

"  Jeanne  of  the  Marshes  "  is  a  brilliant  and  engrossing 
tale  of  love  and  intrigue  which  grips  the  reader's  attention 
at  the  start  and  holds  it  to  the  finish.  The  hero  is  a  man 
of  birth  and  education  who  cares  nothing  for  society,  pre- 
ferring an  outdoor  life  at  his  ancestral  estate  on  the  Norfolk 
coast ;  the  heroine  a  lovable  girl  whom  adulation  has  not 
spoiled.  The  setting  is  chiefly  at  the  Red  Hall,  in  Norfolk, 
where  Cecil  de  la  Borne  plays  the  host  at  an  ill-assorted 
house-party,  while  his  elder  half-brother  masquerades  as 
a  fisherman.  Endless  complications,  and  events  and  scenes 
of  the  most  exciting  character,  lead  up  to  a  satisfactory 
climax,  in  which  a  subterranean  tunnel  leading  to  the  sea 
has  an  important  part.  It  is  emphatically  a  good  story, 
full  of  action  and  color. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


A  dashing  tale  of  love  and  adventure 


THE 
KINGDOM  OF  EARTH 


By  ANTHONY  PARTRIDGE 

Illustrated  by  A.  B.  Wenzell.     19mo.     Cloth.     §1.50 


The  characters  are  strongly  drawn  and  there  is  an 
absorbing  love  theme.  —  Pittsburg  Post. 

Reaches  thrilling  climaxes  and  always  keeps  the  reader's 
interest  whetted  to  a  razor's  edge.  —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

A  swinging,  Ldashing  story  full  of  the  excitement  that 
keeps  the  reader  on  the  qui  vive.  —  Cincinnati  Commercial 
Tribune. 

With  a  distinctly  novel  and  ingenious  plot,  one  involving 
enough  of  intrigue  and  adventure  to  satisfy  the  most 
exacting.  —  San  Francisco  Argonaut. 

Full  of  adventure,  this  dashing  romance  of  a  European 
Crown  Prince  and  a  talented  American  girl  moves  to  its 
climax  in  baffling  mysteries.  — Baltimore  American. 

More  virile  than  the  Zenda  books  and  their  imitators. 
.  .  .  Mr.  Partridge's  central  idea  is  a  novel  one  and  he  has 
worked  it  out  skillfully,  leading  the  reader  on  from  chapter 
to  chapter  with  new  complication  and  mysteries  and  perils 
and  adventures  growing  more  and  more  exciting.  —  New 
York  Times. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


By  the  Author  of  "Aunt  Jane  of  Kentucky" 


THE 

LAND  OF  LONG  AGO 


By  ELIZA   CALVERT   HALL 

Illustrated  by  G.  PATRICK  NELSON  and  BEULAH  STRONG 
12mo.     Cloth.     §1.50 


Those  who  have  read  "Aunt  Jane  of  Kentucky,"  of 
which  fourteen  large  printings  have  been  demanded, 
will  look  forward  with  pleasure  to  a  new  volume  of  Aunt 
Jane's  recollections  of  Kentucky  homes.  "Aunt  Jane" 
has  become  a  real  personage  in  American  literature. 

"The  Land  of  Long  Ago"  is  a  delightful  picture  of 
rural  life  in  the  Blue  Grass  country,  showing  the  real 
charm  and  spirit  of  the  old  time  country  folk — a  book 
full  of  sentiment  and  kindliness  and  high  ideals.  It 
cannot  fail  to  appeal  to  every  reader  by  reason  of  its 
sunny  humor,  its  sweetness  and  sincerity,  its  entire 
fidelity  to  life. 

CHAPTER  TITLES 


I.  A  RIDE  TO  TOWN. 
II.  THE  HOUSE  THAT  WAS  A 
WEDDING  FEE. 

III.  THE  COURTSHIP  OF  Miss 

AMARYLLIS. 

IV.  AUNT  JANE  GOES  A- VISIT- 

ING. 


V.  THE   MARRIAGE    PROB- 
LEM IN  GOSHEN. 
VI.  AN  EYE  FOR  AN  EYE. 
VII.  THE    REFORMATION    OF 

SAM  AMOS. 
VIII.  IN  WAR  TIME. 

IX.  THE  WATCH  MEETING. 


LITTLE,   BROWN,  &   CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34.  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


Sidney  McCalfs  New  American  Novel 


RED  HORSE  HILL 


By  SIDNEY   McCALL 

Author  of  "  Truth  Dexter,"  "  The  Breath  of  the  Gods,"  etc. 
12mo.         Decorated  Cloth.        $1.50 


The  author  of  "  Truth  Dexter,"  in  her  new  book,  "  Red 
Horse  Hill,"  an  American  novel  of  intense  dramatic 
interest,  returns  to  men  and  women  of  the  North  and 
South.  Maris  Alden  had  been  married  in  her  girlhood 
to  a  man  who  deserted  her  and  took  away  her  child. 
Learning  that  he  is  dead,  she  married  Dwight  Alden, 
who  had  just  become  a  resident  of  the  South  to  assume 
the  management  of  a  large  cotton-mill,  owned  by  the 
New  York  firm  of  which  he  was  the  junior  partner. 
Maris  has  searched  in  vain  for  several  years  to  find  tier 
little  girl  "  Felicia,"  and  had  given  up  all  hope,  when  here 
she  discovers  the  little  one  as  a  slave  in  Mr.  Alden's  mill. 

The  conflict  of  human  interests,  a  deep  love  motive"  that 
runs  through  four  related  lives  among  the  characters  of 
this  remarkable  story,  and  the  terrific  power  for  good 
or  evil  held  in  the  hands  of  the  controller  of  Southern 
mills,  all  bear  a  vital  part  in  the  drama. 

The  book  is,  primarily,  a  strong,  human  story,  dealing 
with  human  nature  and  with  love.  The  few  chapters 
which  aim  to  portray  life  in  the  mill  towns  and  in  the 
factories  are  handled  with  pathos,  realism,  and  power. 
It  is  an  American  novel  that  will  be  talked  about. 


LITTLE,  BROWN,  &  CO.,  PUBLISHERS 
34  BEACON  STREET,  BOSTON 


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